


City of Sinners

by AgeandTreachery



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Light Angst, New York City, Non-Canon Relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-05
Updated: 2021-01-13
Packaged: 2021-01-23 09:35:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 25
Words: 63,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21318007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgeandTreachery/pseuds/AgeandTreachery
Summary: The war has been over for seven years. Hermione Granger, fleeing the pressure of Wizarding London, finds home and happiness in New York City. Meanwhile, Draco Malfoy shed his old life to start over in the Sleepless City. A chance encounter awakens memories, regrets, and perhaps a few unexpected emotions. Magic, music, and mysteries collide to bring two sinners together to seek hope for themselves.
Relationships: Hermione Granger & Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 195
Kudos: 209





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> All recognizable characters are the property of J.K. Rowling. However, she is not to blame for what I do with them! I changed several things around, so if canon divergence bothers you, perhaps this story isn't for you. I edited everything myself and all mistakes are mine.

Hermione Granger was keenly aware of the unusual silence permeating the New York City street. Her boots clicked sharply on the gray pavement as she made her way through Morningside Heights toward the park with its rocky outcrop. Everyone thinks of New York as the sleepless city, but even in the city’s riotous chaos, there were moments of blissful calm. It was different from London, where the ghosts of war shattered her peace and rattled their proverbial chains in her subconscious mind. She could sleep here amid the neon lights and cab horns, the frenetic pace lulling her senses. 

The war had been over for seven years. She could feel the distance between her memories softening the pain and dulling the razors of "what if". She was living in the present more easily, even if she still woke sweating and scrambling for her wand more often than she would like. Even if the guilt of surviving sometimes drug her into the dark depression that had dealt a death blow to her relationship with Ron --and the string of men that came after him-- she found herself planning her future instead. For years she had thrown herself into her work, her life becoming an endless circuit of work, sleep, fundraise, edit, speak, work, sleep. Then her most ambitious project passed into law. The Daily Prophet headline had opined “Equality Measures Pass!” and had detailed her Magical Creatures Equality Bill. They called her the Gryffindor Lioness (a moniker she privately liked) and lauded her accomplishments adding “We can’t wait to see what she does next”. She smiled and shook hands with all the right people and received numerous accolades. Then she had gone to Harry and Ginny’s house and sobbed on the couch until she fell asleep. She was 24 and had accomplished more than most people would in a lifetime. Yet, she felt empty and tired. 

Harry had suggested the holiday in America. The Quiddich World Cup was being held in Philadelphia, and he and Ginny were still mad for the sport. She had agreed to an extended holiday with mixed feelings. In the end, she found the distance liberating. Of course, witches and wizards knew who she was here, but they seemed to show less interest. After a week visiting New York City, she floated the idea of a semi-permanent political liaison appointment between the Magical Congress of the United States of America and the Ministry of Magic. Minister Shacklebolt had not initially been eager to lose his brightest rising star, but eventually acquiesced to a two-year post. Hermione moved into a small magical community that lived alongside muggles with the clever application of illusions and soundproofing charms. She’d been here for a year and found a balance her previous existence had been lacking. She loved it. 

So she found herself clicking her boots down a New York City street at 10 am on a Tuesday morning, heading toward her favorite coffee shop with a book in her bag and song in her head. She found American’s ability to brew a proper cup of tea to be subpar. With coffee, however, they had a decent capability, at least in the smaller shops. Cecilia’s was one of those. The owner and primary barista during the week was Cecilia herself, a small dark woman whose parents were from Senegal. She smiled broadly at Hermione as she strolled through the door. “Bonjour, jolie dévoreur de livres,” her lively alto intoned. “I don’t usually see you on a Tuesday. Playing hooky?” She began making Hermione’s usual.

“Mon café-poussoir préféré!” Hermione returned the woman’s grin. “Is the garden still open?” She loved coming here, passing a smattering of French, drinking coffee, and reading a book for pleasure. This was a muggle establishment, and therefore she didn’t worry about colleagues and co-workers happening upon her little retreat. 

“Yes, mon ami,” Cecilia paused to pour, “for another few days at least.” She slid the drink over to Hermione. “You should stick around for lunch hour. Cohen is playing.” She raised a single eyebrow with a mischievous grin. 

“Cohen?” Hermione questioned, picking up the coffee and an apple crumble the older woman laid on the counter. 

“A very talented, very handsome guitarist, who comes in now and then to play for my lunch caffeine addicts.” Nodding at the door to the garden. “I know you like a good musician,” she winked at the curly-haired girl with affection, “He’s a Brit, too. Pretty little posh accent and all.” 

“I don’t usually like the posh ones, Ces,” Hermione laughed and quickly walked through the door and settled into the garden. 

When she came back to reality, the better part of three hours had passed. Her cup was empty and her stomach reminded her an apple crumble did not constitute a proper meal. She was no longer alone in the little garden either and the door to the cafe proper had been wedged open to the temperate fall weather. Lovely guitar music wafted out the main room as she wove her way back to the counter. The line was three deep already, but Cecila worked quickly. Hermione didn’t really want to move from her little sanctuary so she contented herself to wait and listen to the truly talented guitarist. Her eyes cast about for the music’s source and found it just passed the counter. 

His back was to her, but she could see that he was tall and leanly muscled. He wore his burnished blond hair very short on the sides, but a little longer on the top with a slight curl. The witch watched the muscles of the man’s arms flex as he bent over his acoustic guitar in concentration. Privately, Hermione upgraded Cecilia’s taste in men. He was certainly fit and talented. Though, she might reserve final judgment until she had a full picture. As it was, she could only see a vague profile of strong jaw and rather pointed nose. Something nagged at her memory but she couldn’t match it with anything. 

By the time she reached the counter for her order, Cecilia smirked at her and mouthed Told you. She rolled her eyes at the bright-eyed barista. “I’ll have another, and a ham and swiss sandwich on rye,” the guitarist fumbled several notes for the first time since she had started listening. She cut her eyes toward him just in time to catch him turning away, his back suddenly stiff. There was a dark tattoo on the man’s left forearm partially obscured by the neck of the guitar. Again, an unpleasant sense of dé ja vú nagged at her and she narrowed her eyes at him. Something was very odd. 

*******************************  
Draco Malfoy stifled a swear when he heard a voice straight from a part of his life he had left on another continent. He glanced over his shoulder to Cecilia and saw her. Hermione Granger. Her hair was shorter but still riotously curly. Her eyes still held depths of intelligence in their coffee-colored orbs. His fingers disconnected from his brain for a couple of beats. She was still a striking woman. 

The part of him that still carried a schoolboy’s crush on her danced a little jig, but the rest of this being rejected her presence entirely. In the last year of the war, he and his mother had defected. They worked with the Order of the Phoenix to bring down the Dark Lord. He had only worked with her a handful of times, but he had eyes to see and ears to hear. She was as beautiful as she was intelligent, and she was pretty damn swotty. The tensions were still there. The weight of the previous six years and a lifetime of indoctrination hadn’t made their interactions easy. However, she’d willingly worked with them, risked her life with him multiple times. At his trial (because, *yes*, there was still a trial), she and Potter had testified for him.

But he had a life here, now, and she wasn’t part of it. Draco had chosen to serve out his probation here in New York, as far away from the sanctimonious gaze of Wizarding London as he could flee. He acknowledged that he deserved their judgment on some level, but he could feel himself sinking to meet those expectations. It was incredible how many witches and wizards seem to have a perfect memory of his deeds at Hogwarts, yet never once stood against the Evil Bastard himself. It was easier to stand in judgment now that they had come out of hiding to take their “proper places” in “polite society”. He couldn’t be involved in any of his remaining familial estate businesses for fear of complete financial collapse when honorable wizards withdrew their patronage. Of course, as long as he was invisible, they seemed more than willing to give the Malfoy interests as much business as they could handle. 

Draco had lived an indolent lifestyle at his French estate for precisely one month before Theodore Nott had staged an intervention. “You are not cut out for this, mate. You don’t have my talent.” He was right, of course. Theo was impervious to the barbs flying at him. Draco just wasn’t. He slipped easily into impetuosity, rage, and idleness. The mask of haughty indifference that he had worn so easily before the war became impossible to hold. So he applied to finish his probation in America. The Ministry had allowed it due to his valorous service. There were conditions of course, but he took them in stride. He’d been living in Manhattan for 5 years now. He liked his life, he liked his friends, he loved his music. 

Now, she was here--Hermione Granger. She could ruin everything. She was not a witch with which one should trifle. Draco had no doubt she could make his life far more complicated. She would almost certainly jeopardize his anonymity. Maybe, she would understand. He didn’t really want to take the chance. He did the best thing he could which was to play his set and plot to get the Hell out before she noticed him. Of course, the Fates were not in his favor. He felt an intense gaze settle on him for the next several songs. He refused to look up for he knew two dark, inquisitive eyes would be waiting. 

*******************

Hermione scarcely believed her eyes. Draco Malfoy sat cradling an acoustic guitar, playing beautifully, in a coffee shop in upper Manhattan. A muggle coffee shop. His aristocratic face focused intensely downward, silver-gray eyes gazing at the floor, mouth pressed into a thin line. His long capable fingers spidered up and down the graceful neck of the guitar with confidence and flair. She noticed multiple sets of eyes staring with more-than-passing interest at the man. The incongruence of it all gave her a giddy hit of confusion. She sat at a nearby table watching and eating her sandwich. She remembered his defection during the war. She’d been stuck between dubious and delighted. The tall wizard wasn’t without talent, but dealing with him was difficult. Few people really trusted him. She had taken several missions with him simply because no one else would. Draco had been a special target for the Death Eaters since he was the highest form of a traitor, a blood-traitor who had been *gifted* with the Dark Mark. It was a high honor in such circles, and he had betrayed it. To make matters worse, he brought several tactical secrets with him when he defected. He had been skilled, efficient, and coldly distant. Hermione’s memories of the war were always faded around the edges and tinged with a grey-green color -- distorted and wrong. She couldn’t remember having more than short civil conversations with him, even on those terrifying missions. 

Had he always played the guitar? Why was he in New York? Why was he here in her favorite hideaway? What in Godrick’s name was going on? When the blond wizard stopped playing, he raised his head and looked directly at Hermione, lips turned downward slightly. She noticed he was dressed in well-fitted jeans and a graphic t-shirt with "Chasing Dawn" emblazoned on it. He looked like he belonged here. He also looked annoyed that she dared to be in his presence. He could definitely pull that air of arrogance around him as easily as he had at school. Fortunately, she wasn’t a twelve-year-old girl anymore. She would not be easily quelled. His annoyed look broke into a vague sense of worry, and he cast his eyes away from her while he gathered up his things. 

She thought for a moment that he would slip out and avoid her altogether, but several minutes later, he dropped into the seat opposite her own. He managed to make the move look both graceful and nonchalant. “Granger,” he rumbled. He had a much more pleasant voice than she remembered, or maybe he just wasn’t snarling at her. 

“Draco? Or Cohen, I guess?” The wizard across from her flashed her a disarming smile. Hermione couldn’t have been more surprised if the sky had turned pink and the birds started tap dancing. Draco Malfoy had smiled at her -- and he had a nice smile.

“Either is fine, but you try telling no-majs your name is Draco,” he shrugged. “My roommate misheard me… and well… Coe turned into Cohen.” 

“Wait,” she squinted at him, “you have a roommate? *You* have a muggle roommate? What is going on, Malfoy?” She didn’t miss the way his mouth twisted slightly at the use of his surname. Her awareness of the exposed situation snapped into place, suddenly. She was about to reach for her wand to subtly cast a muffliato when she found it had already been done. “And when did you cast this?” 

“Wow, Granger,” there was that smile again, “you’ve lost a little of your edge.” He stretched his legs out in front of him. “I cast it after I sat down.” 

“Wandless and wordless?” She gave him a look of approval when he nodded.

“Well you can’t go waving wands and chanting spells in front of no-majs,” he said but flushed a little at her compliment. “Besides, it’s a very basic spell,” he looked around, “and important to know.”

“How did you learn to play?” She gestured at his guitar. For a moment he looked a little startled at the question.

“Oh, uh, my mother wanted me to learn to play the piano,” he sighed at the memory. “I agreed on the condition that I also learn guitar.” He gave a low chuckle. “I’m still awful playing the piano, but…” he caressed the guitar case, “playing guitar has always been…” he searched for a word.

“A sanctuary?” She suggested. His striking eyes found hers with a hint of surprise, and he nodded. 

“That’s an excellent description,” the ghost of the easy smile hung around the corners of his mouth, but care lines emerged around his eyes as he dared to hold her stare. 

“So,” she tried to give a relaxed, conversational tone to her words as she broke eye contact, but as usual they came out a little stilted, “why are you in New York? How is the great Malfoy Estate ticking along without you?” 

The twitch in his jaw was almost imperceptible, but Hermione saw it. “My family’s lawyers and brokers do a better job without me there.” He sighed, relaxing his shoulders a bit. “I wasn’t exactly helping our reputation. A Death Eater son of a Death Eater,” he briefly glanced down at his left arm which he kept conspicuously under the table. “Not exactly a brilliant business plan. Or even a trust fund, really. My mother keeps up the house and donates egregious sums of money to any charity she can. She usually has to do so anonymously, so the fools will actually take it.” The fingers of his right hand gripped his leg aggressively but he was otherwise relaxed. 

Hermione scrunched her nose. “You came round to the right side though,” her voice confused. “You fought with us for almost a year before the final battle.” 

“Yes. Proudly,” his face took on an earnestness to which she was not accustomed. “But I won’t tell you that wasn’t the hardest thing I had ever done.” He studied the pattern of his coffee cup. “Most people in magic circles believe that I was an opportunist and switched sides when the tide began to turn.“

“What? That’s patently untrue and unfair,” she felt her face flush with anger. “Bloody fucking cowards with partial truths and vindictive spirits.” 

He leaned back in his seat and laughed in a bright baritone. It caught Hermione so unaware that she nearly tipped her empty coffee cup of the table. “The Golden Girl of Griffyndor is defending me, Slytherine’s fallen prince? With unseemly language, no less!” He shook his head, his smile never fading. “Will wonders never cease?” He paused, giving her a long look growing serious, “But, Granger, a partial truth is still a truth, no? The evidence is written on my body as surely as my legacy is written on my face. I’m Lucius Malfoy’s son. I took the Dark Mark willingly. I failed to protect people I should have protected. I followed my father into the service of a terrifying psychopath because I believed I was better. I deserve a little judgment.”

It took Hermione a few minutes to absorb his little speech. When she gathered her thoughts she realized, several seconds had passed while she stared at him. She shook her head again. “It isn’t right,” she cast her eyes down. “I know what you, your mother, and Theo did was intensely dangerous and brave.” She pushed her cup away, “But I am well aware that there is no such thing as fair in love, money, and politics. So, why not London?” 

“London was… not good for me. Neither was home,” he shifted uncomfortably. “I requested permission to serve out my probation here.” She cut him off abruptly. 

“You had probation?” outrage written loudly on her face. 

“Yes, I had 2 years of probation,” he sighed. “How did you not know that? You testified for me.” 

She bit her bottom lip, loathed to admit the truth, “I rather forgot about the results of your trial. I assumed you would be cleared of all charges.” She shuffled her feet, “It was a busy time. I must have given a deposition in a dozen trials over that week.” 

He smiled gently at her. This was becoming increasingly baffling. Was Draco Malfoy trying to assuage her guilt? Did she have guilt over what happened to him? “They couldn’t have cleared all charges when I admitted to at least half of those on record. They gave me the most lenient sentence that would have been acceptable to the general public. So why are you here, Granger? I’d have thought you’d be climbing that Ministry chain of command.” 

She thought for several beats then smiled with a touch of sadness. “Home was not good for me either.” She fidgeted with her sleeves. “It was just too much. I needed to get out for a while and find my own space.” 

He caught her eyes again with a wry smile, “A sanctuary of sorts?” She couldn’t help the smile that relieved the tension between them.

“This suits you, Draco,” she said. Glancing around the shop and then at him. “You seem happy here.” 

“Thanks,” he flushed again and something about the color on his pale checks accentuated his eyes. Oh no, she refused to acknowledge her attraction to him, but that was getting harder with every passing moment. “It suits you, too.” He cocked his head to the side considering, then asked, “My band is playing this Friday in Brooklyn. Would you like to come?” 

“Band? Brooklyn?” She could hear herself sputtering. He laughed again and her knees sort of wobbled. She was glad she wasn’t standing. 

“Yes, my band. We are called 'Facing Dawn'.” She knew she was meant to respond but she simply sat agog. “Brooklyn is a borough of New York City…New York is the city in which you currently reside...” 

“Oh, umm, sure. That sounds great!” She silently berated herself for gaping like a fish. “What’s the venue? How many galleons are the tickets? Is there a direct Floo?” He cut her off with a polite hand gesture. 

“You know, you are kind of adorable when you are flustered,” I’m sorry, what now? Her inner thoughts struggled to incorporate what was happening. “It’s at a place called Silent Barn.” He smirked at her. Oh, there was the Draco she remembered. “Anyone who has bled with me in a war doesn’t need tickets,” he wrote an address down on a small piece of paper that hadn’t been there before. “This is the address, but I’m afraid you’ll have to come by mundane means. This is a no-maj place and all my bandmates are non-magical as well.” He glanced up at the clock. “I need to go, Granger. My cell number is on the front of the card. Text is best, but call if you must.” 

He gathered up his cup and hers and put them in the dirty dish bin before grabbing his guitar and heading toward the door. Before he got all the way out the door she finally blurted, “You have a cellphone?”

That baritone laugh caressed her again as he looked over his shoulder and said “Adorable.” 

****************************************  
Draco walked down the busy early afternoon street with his guitar strapped across his shoulder. He reflected on the conversation with the brilliant witch in the cafe. He shouldn’t have taken the bait. He should have walked out the door. She had made no move to approach him. But her toffee eyes had been dissecting him for twenty minutes. Well, he wasn’t some insecure little boy with honor to uphold anymore. If she was going to stare at him, he was going to bloody well stare back. That had been his first mistake. Gods she was intimidating with her calculating gaze and perfectly set mouth. He knew from experience just how deadly she could be. Now, he needed to go make nice so she wouldn’t make his whereabouts public knowledge. 

Then she had been perfectly, maddeningly reasonable. She had even called him by his first name. He’d glossed over several questions, but he knew that she had taken note of that. He didn’t doubt if he ever saw her again she would be following up on those. Therefore the wisest course of action would have been to never see her again. So, why had he invited her to Silent Barn? He didn’t belong anywhere near the sanctified Hermione Granger. She was as ferocious as she was adorable, and she had understood how he felt about music in two sentences. She had defended him without a second thought and had done so earnestly. But mostly he was a sucker for her brief astonished laugh and her open smile. He could practically hear his father in his head. "Draco, you know there is only one thing that comes from getting distracted by a pretty face." He sighed as he mentally finished his father’s lesson. "Trouble." 

He shook his head as he used his subtly charmed key to unlock his door. A text buzzed in his jacket pocket from an unfamiliar number. 

“I literally had to get a neighbor’s small child to teach me how to send this message. So hello. This is my number. I don’t use this device much. -H” 

He huffed a laugh, fingers flying over the keypad. “There is a sweet irony in there somewhere. You might want to learn if you want to blend in here -D” 

He made it to the top of the stairs before his phone buzzed a second time. “So noted. With whom am I blending? I’ve never been particularly good at that. I haven’t forgotten that you left certain questions unanswered regarding roommates, etc. - H” 

“If you can use discretion, I’ll buy you a coffee on Thursday at lunch. Come with your questions, but try not to write a dissertation? - D” 

“I can do discretion. Lunch on Thursday at Cecilia’s. No promises on the dissertation though. - H” 

“A Griffyndor with the power of discretion? Shall I bring the Sorting Hat for a second go? -D”

“Careful of glasshouses, Slytherin. - H” 

A smile played at the corners of his mouth and a fluttering sensation blossomed in the pit of his stomach. What the hell had Lucius Malfoy ever been right about anyway?


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which new characters are introduced and Hermione and Draco met for the second time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing that you recognize. J.K. Rowling is not responsible for the terrible things I plan to do with her lovely characters. This is a little more character development and fluff. Thank you for your kind encouragement. 
> 
> A small note for clarification:  
Change in perspective is noted by ********  
Internal thoughts are noted with italics  
Texts are in quotes with italics.

Hermione’s workdays passed in a flurry of memos, signatures, motions, and meetings. she quite liked her colleagues, but she rejoiced at the end of a day. Her experience with The Ministry had convinced her work couldn’t be her entire focus. She ended her day by 6 pm unless there was a real emergency. She would meet with Gerry and Susan for a drink at the small pub near MACUSA central at least once weekly. Geraldine Watt served as Undersecretary to the Secretary of International Affairs, and she wielded more than her fair share of power. Susan Bones, on the other hand, came and went as she pleased, collecting fine pieces of art and difficult-to-procure artifacts. The women found an odd rapport with one another, enjoying each other’s company without demanding more than an evening a week at most. Gerry often worked hours that compared to Hermione’s and raised her son and daughter too. Susan breezed through at least once a week, always with pictures of her wife, Merideth, and their cadre of endearing animals. Occasionally she would disappear for a month or two on an acquisition. 

Susan was showing Hermione photos of her newest family member, a small marmoset named Kiki, and waiting for Gerry when a gentle ping sounded from her robe pocket. Susan’s eyebrows knotted together at the sight of Hermione’s phone. 

“_ Still on for lunch/inquisition tomorrow? - D” _

She had not thought of the myriad of questions the handsome snob had left in his wake in 24 hours. She could not say the same for the man himself, though. That smile of his popped into her idle mind more than entirely proper. Still, she had a significant list of questions written in her personal notebook. It would do.

“What is happening? Are you on a mobile phone?” She paused. “Are you_ blushing _ ?” The enthusiastic witch wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “I _ need _details! Take pity on those of us who have settled down. I want a good tawdry romance, Hermione. He must be a half-blood or a muggle if you are using the text flirt method.”

Hermione shook her off. “It isn’t like that. He’s an old acquaintance.” She quickly typed the message away from Susan’s ever-vigilant eyes. 

“_ I shall leave the wheel and hot poker at home, Malfoy. See you at 11:30? - H” _She had become more efficient with the little letters on the phone and didn’t mind the typing, but his speed seemed incredibly unfair when she received his reply just seconds later. 

“_ Malfoy again? I’ll need to remedy that somehow. I appreciate your leniency Grand Inquisitor. 11:30 at Cecilia's then. - D” _ Hermione remembered his grimace in the cafe at the mention of his surname. 

_ “How are you so adept at this tiny torture device? Would you prefer I refrain from the use of your surname? - H” _She took a full three minutes to type her message and received a reply in 45 seconds. Maddening. 

“_ Practice. You may call me whatever you wish. I simply prefer Draco. - D” _

The door swung open and Gerry entered in a furor of motion and words. “So sorry, ladies! I had to take Brantley and Asha to after school art class and lacrosse respectively. Can you believe lacrosse is an actual competitive sport now? AND that my sweetheart of a daughter wants to play it? Is GOOD at playing it? What are people thinking running into each other full speed with sticks? I suppose it’s better than a Quiddich match. Thank God I don’t have to worry about that with either of them.” Neither of Gerry’s children was magical. Most in wizarding circles avoided the subject, treating as an unfortunate birth defect. She never did, bragging about them at every opportunity. The witch had married a muggle ten years her senior, and she still believed him to be the best man who had ever walk the streets of Manhattan. He passed away in a motor vehicle accident five years ago. Gerry loved her children with the ferocity that matched Molly Weasley on her best day. 

“_ Well then, until tomorrow, Draco. - H” _It had taken Hermione the entirety of Gerry’s ramble to finish the short message. She stuck her phone in her pocket and hugged her friend. The very American greeting of hugs still made Hermione uncomfortable, but Gerry would never be deterred and so she bowed to her friend’s wishes. She had not yet been released from Gerry’s embrace when her phone dinged again. She regained her independent space and checked the message. 

_ “Thank you. Until tomorrow. - D” _

Hermione found herself smiling and humming. 

“Susan, what is wrong with Hermione,” she said in a stage whisper. “She’s more focused on that phone than Brantley usually is and she seems to be blushing.” She widened her bright hazel eyes dramatically, “Is she ill? Bewitched?” The blonde witch grabbed Hermione by the shoulders and theatrically enunciated. “Come back to us! Your office isn’t prepared to lose you! Think of the policy, Granger! The details that will go unnoticed!” 

Hermione knocked her head back and laughed at her friend’s antics. “Ger, you’ll be there. You never miss a trick,” she placed her hand on her forehead like a Victorian damsel fainting. “I’m sure you’ll step in the event of my untimely and unfortunate demise.” 

“Really,” Susan piped in after they all had a good laugh, “who is this new bloke? You are acting a bit more smitten than I generally associate with you.” 

Hermione pursed her lips, “You know I have a rule. I don’t intend to be more than friends, _perhaps_ friends with benefits.” 

Susan sighed with a tiny frown but Gerry made a sound that reminded her of a subway car grinding to a halt. “Fuck your rule. If you find somebody to make you smile like that for more than a day or two, keep them.” 

“I’m not sure he would be kept.” She smiled leaning on her hand and stirring her whiskey sour. 

“If he doesn’t want to be kept by you he is a fool,” Susan said. “I don’t believe you to be attracted to fools… with one exception perhaps.” She teased. 

The women switched to safer topics and chatted pleasantly for the next half hour. Then Gerry received a call that Brantley was ill and rushed off to pick him up. Hermione gathered her things and made her way home, thinking of questions for a certain wizard with secrets and a stunning smile. 

When Hermione walked into Cecilia's at 11:25, Draco was already there with two cups gently steaming in front of him. She glanced down with approval. "How did you know my order?" 

In perfect seriousness, he said, "Magic." She stilled running through the spells that might provide such information. 

"Merlin's beard, woman, it was a joke." He laughed looking a bit chagrined. "I just asked Cecilia."

"Oh. _Oh, no!_ You'll give her ideas, Draco," she barked a relieved laugh. 

"Well, a man has to keep up his reputation," he grinned devilishly. She pinned him with a disapproving stare. He shrugged eloquently, "Cecilia already has ideas, Hermione. I told her you were too good for my ilk. I don't know whether she laughed maniacally or giggled." He risked a glance toward the counter. "It was terrifying." 

He was charming. Why was he charming? Why was she charmed? She distracted herself with coffee for a moment. “So tell me about your situation, then. You’ve been quite stubbornly evasive.” 

He lifted one dark blond eyebrow, “I have not yet begun to evade. The fullest extent of my evasive abilities would be wasted on anyone in red and gold.” 

“Overconfident. And I don’t make a habit of house colors anymore.” She looked directly at him. 

“My skills are beyond reproach,” he sobered a bit. “My life and yours have depended on it more than once. If I wanted you to know nothing, you would know nothing.” He paused with a pensive look. “It’s too bad about the red and gold though. They always suited you.” 

She hoped fervently that he couldn’t tell how much she appreciated his compliment. It was easy to forget how skilled he was at both building and breaching mental barriers. Aside from Severus Snape, Draco and Narcissa Malfoy were the best the order had. Some of that talent was manipulating the situation so that the appropriate questions - and only the appropriate questions - were asked. He was handsome and charming. He was dangerous. But then again, she was dangerous as well. And clever. His gray eyes held hers for a moment more, then broke to examine her hands. 

“Yes, just so,” she gently cleared her throat. “Why don’t you tell me about your move to New York.” His smile returned. 

“Charge on, Lioness. Subtly is not your strong suit.” He waved the protest on her lips away. “The conditions of my probation forbade wand usage for two years,”

“Two years!” She exclaimed indignantly before he cut her off with a sharp look.

“Granger, be so kind as to hold all questions until the end of the testimony. They warned any association with the _dark arts _would be punishable by a sentence in Azkaban with no second trial. I was, to be frank, increasingly miserable in my family home and London was worse. I called in every favor I had from the war and requested permission to finish my probation here.” He let out a snort as he looked at the witch in front of him, who had begun twisting her hands and pressing her lips together. “Merlin’s sake, you are all but raising your hand like a schoolgirl. What?” 

"Why New York specifically? Where do muggles come into this? Who taught you to play the guitar?" His eyes narrowed, casting an incredulous look at her when she asked the last question. 

“Have you ever simply listened to a story without making a list of inquiries?” Hermione thought about that in earnest for a moment. 

“No.” She admitted. He twisted one corner of his mouth into a smile.

“New York because… well, I’m not completely sure. The Ministry and MACUSA have good relations. The US didn’t really get involved in the war, so feelings don’t run as high. No one gives two shits about blood or who my father might be. The music scene helps, too.” His hands subtly twitched, and she noticed again how long and agile his fingers were. _ No. Not thinking about that, Granger. Off the table. _

“Of course MACUSA had its own demands. Restricted to no magic what-so-ever for six months. They _encouraged _me to live outside of the magical community. According to the wise and powerful elders, my _ influence _ could be better monitored _ away _ from the general community.” There was a brief flash of anger and tightening of his jaw. With a great will of effort, Hermione held her tongue. That was dangerous for muggles and isolating for wizards. Without an outlet for magic, a witch or wizard could have an energy build-up and cause unintentional magic. It was a ridiculous punishment. She made a mental note to find out _who _decided this was a good idea and impart her feelings. _ Loudly_. 

“But,” he brushed a piece of hair out of his eyes, relaxing marginally, “I have a second cousin who is a squib. No one talks about it. Her name Celestine, and she lives north of the city with her husband. She… she is very kind. I lived with her for the first two weeks before finding other arrangements. She suggested I might be better off with a roommate since I didn’t know the first thing about living without magic. Tristan is her neighbor’s son, and he had plans to go to NYU. He didn’t have anywhere to live, and I could afford a better apartment far closer to campus than he could dream of having on his own. Celestine told him I went to a private boarding school and had been raised with _ odd _ habits.” Draco pushed himself back from the table into a practiced, elegant slouch with one arm over the back of the chair. Hermione hadn’t realized he had drawn closer to her until he withdrew. She pointedly ignored the fact that she had subconsciously mirrored him. 

“The poor kid must have shown me how to operate the oven half a dozen times that first month. He’s my best friend now, besides Theo. Also, he is the best damn percussionist in Manhattan, though I might be somewhat biased.” His smile was back and unfettered. “I didn’t want to move out after 6 months, so I didn’t.” His smile faltered the slightest bit. “It’s easier for me in the no-maj world.” 

“How much does Tristan know about magic?” Hermione asked attempting to conceal her worry. 

“More than he should,” Draco said carefully. “But not enough to get anyone in serious trouble.” 

Relief washed over Hermione in so much as she could at least have plausible deniability if this whole thing blew up in her face. MACUSA still had the most arcane laws about muggles and magical folk. 

“Have I satisfied your initial questions, oh great and powerful Grand Inquisitor?” Draco drawled. She noted that he hadn’t told her who taught him the guitar, but that was more personal. She let it go. 

“For now,” she laughed lightly at his jab. “What are your afternoon plans?” 

“Are you planning to have me tracked?” He grinned. Hermione couldn’t help herself. She grinned right back. “I’m afraid I’m not that interesting, little lioness. I’m on-call, but I’ll probably do a little shopping while I’m close to Sugar Hill.” 

“On-call?” Hermione asked frowning as she reached the bottom of the cup of coffee. 

“Merlin’s greasy beard, Hermione Granger did not do her homework,” Hermione suddenly stopped trying to deny that Draco’s smile was mildly addictive. 

“Well, I know you work as a contractor with MACUSA,” she said, feeling her cheeks redden but maintaining eye contact. 

“Mmmm,” his grey eyes were flecked with silver. He didn’t look away. “Not very specific, Ms. Granger, I am going to have to dock points.” 

“Har, har,” she rolled her eyes, subconsciously fiddling with her cup. 

He took pity on her. “I work as a curse breaker. I’m on call two days a week and in-office three.” He took the cup from her, a look of mild annoyance passing over his face. “Weekend emergencies are overtime, for which I am paid handsomely.” He winked at her as he whisked the cups away. _ He winked_. Who was this person? Hermione knew with a solid sort of conviction that she wanted to find out. 

************************************

Draco tried to keep his cool. He shouldn’t be flirting with her. He shouldn’t be here at all. Yet, the way she hummed with energy held his attention. Her brain all but sent literal sparks into the air as it spun questions. Her face was an open book upon which every emotion was written in bold color graphics. For Draco, it was fascinating; he had been schooled early and often to marshall his emotions and hide his thoughts. In his family, it would have been the equivalent of dancing around naked during a formal dinner. 

He could tell Hermione liked it when he flirted with her. She was genuinely interested in music. She had at least a dozen, dozen more questions and all of it was broadcast on her face. Her emotions were practically telegraphed to all around her. Minerva’s shiny teeth, he liked talking to her. He slid back into his chair.

“Draco, would you like to come to a stage play with me tonight in Central Park? It is a muggle thing I’ve been mad to try, but all my friends have utterly refused to go with me. Why must magic folk be so undone by the simplest of customs.” Hermione began to ramble on about the storied history and beauty of the premier park in New York. Draco had a momentary malfunction of reason. Had _ Granger _just asked him out? Surely she meant as a friend. Someone with whom she could go to non-magical events. 

“What’s the play?” He finally managed to put words together and conjure a complete thought. She blinked at him, having stopped her thought-stream mid-sentence. 

“Oh, uh, are you familiar with William Shakespeare? It’s one of his comedies_ .” _She flushed again and looked at him with a small hopeful smile. He would have followed her into a pit of basilisks if she’d asked him with that look. Godrick help him, he would have skipped into the pit whistling a tune. He was definitely in trouble.

“I know The Bard,” he gave a flourish of his hand, “_ The evil that men do lives after them; the good is oft interred with their bones”. _

“_ Julius Ceaser _ !” she bounced upright. “Rather a pessimistic quote, though.” She cocked one dark eyebrow at him. “I prefer ‘ _ Cowards die many times before their deaths, the valiant never taste of death but once’. _

“Spoken like a true Lioness.” He couldn’t stop his grin. “Although, both quotes could be argued. Which play are we attending this evening?” 

“You’ll go? Really?” The little Gryffindor began to positively buzz with excitement. “My parents went years ago and talked _endlessly _about the merits of the open-air theatre! My father kept the playbill.” 

Draco reached his hand over the table and anchored her arm, partly to refocus her attention and partly to keep her from taking literal flight in her excitement. “I’ll go, I’ll go! Nyx’ bloody nightgown, just keep both feet on the ground and tell me what show we will be seeing.” 

“_ Much Ado About Nothing_,” her big brown eyes were fixed on his. He felt the heat rise to his face and approximately one hundred snitches took flight somewhere in his middle. _ Steady on, you idiot. She just wants company. Don’t be daft. _Draco quickly moved his hand from her arm and furiously hoped she hadn’t seen his face flush. 

“I’m not familiar with that one,” he desperately tried to collect himself while distracting her. “Is it another history?” 

“Comedy,” she cast her eyes downward. “One of his best, really.” 

“Ah, father wouldn’t have approved of the comedies. They would not have made it to the library.” He released a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. 

“But he allowed the dramas?” She studiously examined the table. 

“And the sonnets. He believed...well… I’m not sure what exactly he believed honestly.” The blonde wizard resisted the restless fidget of his hands. That was always the case when Lucius Malfoy made an appearance in his memory. A complex conflagration of emotions swept through him. Taking deep breaths, he allowed the storm to pass over him. “In any case, I do know Shakespeare. It would be interesting to see a comedy. When does it start.” 

When he looked up, brandy colored eyes were staring back at him with blistering intensity and something like compassion. “Meet me at 102nd and 5th Avenue at 5:30. It’s casual dress.” She mercifully neither asked about nor commented on his obvious discomfort. 

“Yeah, Granger,” he gave her what he hoped was a roguish smile. “It’s a date.”

She didn’t contrary him which made the troop of flying things in his belly flutter faster.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. If you have a moment, comments and kudos are always appreciated. I feed my creativity gremlins with them.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco and Hermione see a play and learn more about each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing. Anything you may recognize belongs to J.K. Rowling and she is not responsible for the terrible things I do to her wonderful characters. 
> 
> *** CONTENT WARNING***  
There is some oblique reference to suicide in the latter part of this chapter. If this is a trigger for you proceed with caution.

Later that evening, Hermione walked with Draco toward the small stall where craft beer was doled out with a ridiculously large price tag. They talked about the first half of the play with an easy intimacy that came as a surprise to both parties. During the first few acts of the play, she spent more time watching Draco than she would like to admit. She found herself enthralled by his expressions. She had never seen him so unguarded, and it was delightful. In the years since the war, it seemed the wizard had learned to laugh. 

“Was the theatre a regular outing for your family, Granger?” He walked with a relaxed gait, both hands in his pockets. Hermione was briefly jealous of his casual elegance and subconsciously straightened her shoulders. 

“My parents worked long hours, but we tried to attend live theater or concerts whenever possible.” She looked up at him with a smile. “Their first date was a musical. My mother said it was so terrible that she felt obliged to give my father tickets to a better show.” His gray eyes watched her with such interest, she knew she was blushing. “It’s rather a family tradition now. What about you? Did you go to the theatre often?”

“Not often. My mother enjoys an outing now and again, but it wasn’t considered...an ideal pass time for a young aristocrat such as myself.” He gave a subtle roll of his eyes and huffed out a small laugh. “Such was my burden to bear.” 

“Poor little aristocrat,” she dramatically clutched at her chest. “Spin me tales of the burdens of your childhood!” 

“Is this the way you treat your prisoners, Inquisitor?” He scrunched his face and tried to summon a put upon look. “Heartless evisceration of tender memories,” he broke laughing.

A tiny bell rang from the pocket of his blue jeans. She assumed it was his mobile phone, but instead, he retrieved a pocket watch. His face went neutral, far from the animated Draco she had enjoyed so far this evening. 

“Hermione,” he pressed his lips together, “Nyx, I have been called in. I need to go.” 

“Oh,” she blinked for a moment then nodded pulling her hair back and beginning to braid it. “Let’s go then.” 

He stood agog as she set off in the direction of the nearest apparation point. “Wait, you can’t come with me. There are approximately a dozen rules against it.” He caught up with her in three swift strides. 

She looked up at him and made a show of rolling her eyes. “Do I need to show you my school records? At this point, I have begun to see rules as loosely held suggestions that apply to most people. I have security clearance to level 10, there are only 11 levels, Draco, so that shouldn’t be an issue unless you are somehow the President of MACUSA.” 

“Well, no,” he sputtered, “but it could be very dangerous, Granger.” He waved his hands about dismissively. “It’s more likely a kid who opened a box or a book he shouldn’t have, but it could be more serious.” 

She gave him her warmest smile as she drew to a stop at the small bus stop shelter that served as the mark for safe apparation, “Oh, well in that case you don’t need to be afraid, I’ll be there to protect you.” 

Before he could protest she wrapped her arm around his and apparated. 

*********************

He didn’t ask her how she knew where his headquarters were. She was Hermione Granger. There were not many doors that would stay closed to her. She was smart enough to search out the important information and connected enough to pull strings. 

His feet hit the ground hard after the unanticipated apparation, but he managed to stay upright, his head spinning and stomach roiling. She paused for the briefest of moments and then began striding toward the small building that held the public-facing branch of his office. 

“Not there,” he grabbed her arm and then had to let go and put his hands on his knees and breathe. “Salazar’s ballsack, did you have to do that.” 

“Well, you were being obstinate,” she shrugged her shoulders. 

He shook himself and straightened. “There is a tree around the side. That’s rendezvous for after hours.” 

Her shoulders dropped a little. “I’m sorry. I guess I went a little overboard.” She began slowly walking toward the area he indicated. “I do tire of being underestimated. I know I’m not as strong as Harry or even Ron at offensive magic, but I can hold my own."

"If you want to get better with offensive magic, Granger, you won't learn with Potter, certainly not with the Weasel." He felt her glare without seeing it and made a quick course correction. "Not that they aren't fine wizards. Weaslbee is a damn fine tactician, and very few could stand against Saint Potter in a fair pairing of raw power." He tried to keep the distaste from his face but apparently did a poor job. 

"You look like that was about as easy to say as drinking vinegar." She smiled maliciously, "I'm saving this memory for a rainy day. One of them will need cheering sooner or later." 

She was pushing his patience on purpose. "As I was saying," she bit her lip to disguise her smile which didn't work well. He went on anyway, "you trying to use a rapier as you would a club. Of course, you don't have as much success." 

Her face was set in a dubious expression when they reached the tree. "Are you saying that my magic is somehow different than Harry's or Ron's?" 

"I'm saying that _ you _ are different. How could your magic possibly be the same?" A line appeared between her eyebrows. 

“What do you mean?” Draco touched the gnarled knot on the oak tree and leaned back training his eyes on the petite witch. 

“You may be a Lioness, but you are not the same as Potter and Weasley.” He flicked his wand from his concealed holster. “They lack your finesse, you lack their...hmmm bombastic tendencies? Train with me for a day or two. You might like my style better.” He gave her what he hoped was a cheeky smile. 

A large silver cat landed in front of him on silent paws. Jeremy Pruitt’s voice came from the beast, “Pessimus, your favorite scoundrel is in over his head again. Go handle it. Owl if you need backup." 

He set his teeth at the passive insult. He very much wanted to hex his direct superior until the insufferable git's balls dropped off and shriveled into raisins. That might be frowned upon, he supposed, but the image was a good one. 

"You don't like him," Hermione surmised her eyes trained on Draco's face. It made him slightly uncomfortable when she read him so easily, but he wasn't precisely hiding his distaste. He had always shown that a bit more readily. 

"No, I don't," he admitted. "He's a prick and ruined a perfectly lovely evening. At least I can read the rest of the play later." He presented his arm as if to escort her. 

"You should really see it in the intended format," she creased her brow again. "Are you actually inviting me along?"

"I'm surrendering to the inevitable, Granger," he raised both eyebrows in a challenge he knew she would accept. He knew he shouldn't offer, but damn he wanted to stay with her a little longer. She smiled and slid her hand down his forearm, closing her strong fingers around his wrist. “Are you ready?” 

“I’m always ready, Draco." A little zing of heat slipped through his blood and straight to his libido. He quietly filed that phrase and the look in her eyes away for _ personal _ use at a later time. 

"It's still polite to ask," he chided. Then he concentrated on their next destination feeding power into the spell. They blinked out of time and space, momentarily flung into a spinning nothingness together. Her hand was steady on his wrist as they landed with a soft _ pop _ on a dock in Brooklyn. In front of them was the famous Jane’s Carousel, behind them the Brooklyn Bridge was lit in its evening glory. 

Beside the grand, old carousel, a man with a mustache held a bottle aloft a belted a raucous drinking song. Draco nodded toward him, "That would be our call, there." 

The clever witch tilted her head slightly, "Being a drunken mess isn't a curse so far as I know." 

He hummed assent, "Look a little closer at the bottle." He watched as realization broke over her face like the dawn. 

"Is that a vessel of Bacchus?" He was mildly incredulous that _anyone _should recognize a cursed object of third or fourth tier value on sight. He gave her a nod and watched the cauldrons fire up in her magnificent mind. "He won't be able to stop drinking from it until he returns it or counter curses the object." 

He smiled and nodded again, "Or is rendered unconscious." And he stepped up to the sidewalk and fired two quick _stupify _curses, hitting the man in the jaw and chest. The singing stopped as the man went down like a weighted broom. 

“_Levicorpus,” _her wand shot out a silver spark that gently caught the man before he hit the ground. Draco had a flash of admiration for her kindness. 

He struck out toward the fallen man, “You should get him to the ground. No-mags congregate here.” As they neared, Draco drew out a large white cloth. He knelt and gathered the gilded bottle. “_Reditus _” he murmured and the bottle vanished along with its contents. 

Hermione was checking his vital signs. “Why was he out here with a vessel of Bacchus?” 

“Several of the old families of New York have vessels. They were something of a status symbol. It’s a bit of a hazing ritual for those new to certain _ upper echelons _ of New York society. Have a fancy party, give the new guy or girl a vessel. Watch the show.” 

“Is that what this is? A ridiculous exclusionary ritual?” Her cupid’s bow lips turned down in anger. 

“No, Lioness, they would never let one of their initiates out into the public. This," he waved at the prone as if presenting someone formally, "is Elias Sangish, second son of Edmond Sangish and one of the most wealthy wizards in the world.” He leaned over and placed his wand on Elias’ chest and commanded _innervate_. Elias gasped and began to move again, blinking his dark eyes. Draco noticed how close Hermione was to his side, her mind still whirring away. He bent a little closer to her, just to watch the goosebumps rise on her skin when he exhaled, “The Sangishes are one of two or three families in the world that could rival the Malfoy vaults in their prime.” 

Elias’ blurry voice drifted up, “Malfoy? Come to pick me up again? Can’t bear to let a fucking drunken disgrace die as he lived?” 

“Elly-boy,” Draco slapped him gently on the face, “you’ll need to get up earlier in the morning to assassinate one of my friends like that, eh?” 

“Fuck you, blonde asshat,” the older wizard promptly vomited on Draco’s shoes. He hated it when people ruined his shoes. He’d left much of his pride of presentation behind, but he liked his shoes. Bright laughter bubbled from the witch next to him.

“My god, your face is…” she gasped a breath. “It’s just perfect.” She waved her wand and the mess disappeared, though the smell lingered. 

“I like these shoes,” he realized a little belatedly that he was whining. It made her laugh more. 

“Who is the trouble?” Elias reached his uncoordinated hand upward and caught Hermione’s hair. She visibly blanched but held her ground, firmly disengaging the unfamiliar man’s hand. 

“I like her, Draco,” he rolled to the side and heaved himself up, listing heavily this way and that. “You better run before it ruins you.” 

Draco flung Elias’ arm around his shoulder. “Are you ready for a walk, mate?” 

“Nyx, no, just appappate...appapaa…. Fucking poof me there.” Renewed laughter from the witch beside him. 

“That word means something different across the pond, old boy.” He steadied the man, “The walk will do you good. I am not _ apparating _ three people, one of whom is decidedly legless.” 

“Arsenic would be good for me. Drowning would be good for me.” Hermione cast a worried glance at Elias. 

“Oh don’t give me your worry, woman. You don’t know me what I’ve done. You don’t know what it’s like to be responsible for losing the only thing that mattered to you.” Draco pressed his lips together, pulling a piece of the soft flesh between his teeth. 

“You don’t know what I know Elias Sangish,” Hermione’s eyes were agate-hard and her jaw was set. “Draco, why don’t you take him home. I’ll meet you back at the carousel.” He nodded and watched her turn and fade into the night. 

“Let’s get you home, Elias,” and they disappeared into the night. 

***************************

Hermione perched on a metal fence and looked at the pretty carved horses waiting for Draco to return. She tried to shake the simmering anger the drunken Elias had stoked within her. The man had oozed a sort of unawareness that stomped on others. She’d known people like that. She was on a kind-of date with someone like that or at least someone who had been like that. She huffed out a breath and hooked her boots under the lower rung of the fence and her arms on the upper and let herself slip backward. She hung upside down looking at the sparkling Brooklyn Bridge. _ A change of perspective, Hermione_. Her mother’s voice slipped through her memory. They would hang upside down like this on the tiny swings in the neighborhood park. She remembered going to the little park at six when the children at her first school had been cruel to an unusual girl, at eleven when she discovered she was a witch, at 14 when wizards and witches were just as cruel as muggles, and finally at 17 when she still felt like a little girl who wanted her mother but needed to make adult decision. That last time her mother had been the first to drag her to the swings and flip over. _ Whatever the problem is, solutions are often found by looking at it from a different direction. _Lost in her memories, she nearly missed Draco’s approach. He walked past her, as the shadows served to obscure her form. 

“You’d make a terrible spy, you know,” she smiled when he jumped. 

“Merlin’s Teeth, Hermione, what are you doing there? And why on earth are you nose down?” He really was quite handsome, even from this angle. She enjoyed the look of mild-bewilderment on his face. “And I made an excellent undercover operative. Stealth was never required.” 

“I am seeking perspective,” she said, pulling herself up and hopping down from the fence. “So what’s his story? I assume you know him from those rarified circles to which your family has access.”

“He was in love with a half-blood, his family did not approve. They made him choose. He chose to let her go.” Draco shrugged. “She died suddenly about five years ago, and he hasn’t been the same since. I find him here or sometimes in Gramercy Park about once a month.” 

“How very vain,” she said. The wizard looked at her quizzically. “I know I’m meant to find the whole star-crossed lovers story romantic, but I don’t. He gave her up, then she died and he fell in love all over again with an _idea_. Do you even know how she felt about him?” 

Draco gave her a wry grin, “I can’t be sure, but I know she broke off an engagement after they saw each other again at a party. I believe that would have been three years after he gave her up, and two months before she died.” He held out his arm to her once again and she took it. “He never said, but I had the impression they had begun seeing each other again privately.” 

“So his mistress dies tragically and he wants to kill himself to join her?” She couldn’t understand the logic, really. _ Romeo and Juliette _was a cautionary tale for the love of the founders. 

“Oh, no,” Draco laughed. “If he _ really _ wanted to off himself, he’d be long gone by now.” He caught himself and frowned. “I’m not making light of it. He just makes a big show, but he’s never in real danger.” 

“I see,” she reminded herself not to grind her teeth. “So this is why they send you?” 

“Because I know him?” Draco scoffed, “No. That would be a more pleasant reason than the truth.” 

“Pessimus,” Hermione’s mind had caught on the word a dozen times that night. “Why do they call you least or last?” His eyebrows practically jumped off his face and his cheeks reddened as his mouth turned downward. 

“Of course you caught that,” he ran his hand over his face as if trying to smooth his expression. It almost worked, but the blush lingered. “It is closer to ‘lowest’ in this context. I’m the only wizard they have ever allowed into the department without passing the final test.” He scowled baring his white teeth slightly. 

“Is it because of who you are?” She asked. “It wouldn’t be the first time tests were skewed to keep someone out or down.” 

“No,” he flashed her a knowing grin. “I passed all other test levels with top marks.” His grin shifted to a cocky smile, “I’m quite good. Present company excluded, I was one of the most capable wizards in our class.” 

“So what defeated the _ very capable _ Draco Malfoy?” She found herself smiling at him again as they neared the apparation point. Her earlier ire wasn’t forgotten but directed in a more appropriate way. 

“The Patronus spell,” he looked down at his shoes. “I’ve never been able to produce one. It’s the primary means of emergency communication for the curse-breakers.” 

“A Patronus,” she blinked at him. “That is the most inappropriate use of a prestige spell I’ve ever heard.” She removed her hand from his arm, crossing her arms over her chest. “I mean, really Draco, what if you need to be concealed? Is a bright prancing puma not going to give your location away to anyone with eyes? Not to mention how needlessly complex it is to do something vital like send for help.” 

Draco’s eyes danced with merriment as he watched her fume. It was odd, most people shrunk away or became uncomfortable when she spun off on a rant. She tried to avoid her rants around most people but he seemed amused by them. “I’m fairly certain it’s meant to prove our grit and cool head for combat if that were to be necessary. They don’t really send me into dangerous situations alone, as I ‘haven’t passed the general safety’. So I’m on rich sad sack clean up, I was poking around my great-aunt’s vault, I thought it would be funny to play a prank on a no-mag, duty most nights.” They reached the apparation point and he put out his arm once more. 

“I could try to teach you if you want to learn,” she tried to keep the confidence in her voice and looked him directly in the eyes. “My Patronus isn’t the strongest, but I have one.” 

“I’ve tried before,” he flicked his grey eyes at her when she took his arm. She thought how much vulnerability was in that single moment of confession. 

“Perhaps,” she pulled him to face her and his eyes found hers again. “But you have not tried with me.” She smiled up at him, realizing for the sixth time that evening how tall he was. “Can I take you somewhere?” He blinked again with a look of consternation but nodded. 

She concentrated on the northern entrance to Central Park, just behind a bathroom building that provided a shield from prying eyes. It wasn’t an official point, but she had skirted that rule on numerous occasions. Hermione noted how much louder her _pop_ of apparation was compared to Draco's and though to improve herself. Then she grinned broadly sliding her hand down to Draco’s hand to drag him further into the part to her favorite spot. “I want to show you something. It’s the best place in the park and we would have it to ourselves.” 

She missed the sharp intake of breath from the wizard behind her, but she did notice that after a few seconds he threaded his fingers through hers. Her heart fluttered treacherously. Ignoring it, she hurried on toward the cast iron fence. Bypassing the closed black and gold gates, she tucked them between two trees. Hermione pulled out a small bronze key and grinned up at him. “Can you keep a secret?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I appreciate any comments and kudos. They feed the productivity pixies. Constructive criticism is welcome if put kindly.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione and Draco end their evening with a garden stroll and a few confessions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I continue to own NONE of these characters. The indomitable Madam Rowling is not responsible for my mischief. All errors (in grammar and in judgment) are my own. I do take liberties with both the timeline and my interpretation of the magic. Forgive me my hubris.

“Can you keep a secret?” The dark-haired witch looked up at Draco through her curls. Her eyes shone with merriment and a small smile played on her lips.  _ For you _ , he thought,  _ I would walk through Fiendfyre and not make a sound.  _ She had brought him back to Central Park, skirting around the water reservoir at its northern end. She practically compelled him forward to a large fence on the reservoir’s southern shore

“I’ve been known to be rather tight-lipped when it suited me,” he replied. He preened privately as she laughed her crisp little laugh. She quickly gripped his fingers then pressed her other hand with the key in it to a small triangle of gold inset into the cast iron fence. The bars widened just enough to allow a normal adult entry. She danced through the opening pulling him along in her wake. Her knee-length floral skirt fanned about her, caught in a breeze that made her look like a wild sylph. He had to duck his head, but in seconds they were both inside the gothic fence. “These are the Conservatory Gardens. I’ve been here many times.” He said following her down a small dirt path. “Why the special key? Why not just a quick  _ alohamora _ ?” 

“This isn’t  _ just _ the Conservatory Gardens,” her smile held secrets. Sweet Circe, he wanted to unravel her mysteries. He wanted her trust, as she already held his. He was already flying past so many red lights and caution signs that his internal thoughts should have looked like the Gryffindor common room, with so much red and yellow. Somehow that wasn’t the case. 

“Well, what is it then,” he felt her loosen the grip on his hand very slightly, a fleeting look of uncertainty flickered across her face. He shamelessly clung to her hand, softly squeezing her fingers in what he hoped was reassurance. She tossed back her shoulders and jutted her chin out. He had seen her do that several times during the war. She was winding up her courage. 

“It’s a bit of a private place,” she turned back toward the path, hesitating. “Access was a gift from Harry. Only 4 people have access including me.”

He pulled her back around to face him. “You don’t have to show me anything you don’t want to show me, Granger. Not now, not ever.” Draco ran his thumb over the soft knuckle of her hand. “We can just go back out and take a walk or go home.” She held up her other hand to his mouth gently touching his lips. 

“Thank you for that,” her fingers lingered for a moment. “I still want to show you.” 

“Okay,” he replied, his voice barely above a whisper. His eyes locked on hers in shared intimacy that required no words. 

But then again, Hermione could never resist words. “This is The Greenhouse. It was built with the park. A wizard named Frederick Olmsted designed the whole park and several others in the area. He believed the muggles deserved more beauty in their lives. He tucked a modest home for himself just inside The Conservatory Gardens.” 

They rounded a bend in the path and a generous summer cottage spread before them. Roses climbed a broad trellis and woodland wildflowers grew in unruly clumps around a pond that reflected the moon. Somewhere farther afield Draco could hear the running water of a stream. What was more, the entire place was warm, as if the last weeks of spring had just plunged the valley into delicious heat. 

“This is brilliant,” he breathed. He was drawn forward toward the roses. “My mother’s roses are similar to these. It smells a little like home.” He didn’t mention that his mother’s roses reflected emotion. It was a family secret, designed to put adversaries at a disadvantage, especially with particular talents that ran in his bloodline. Even the truth could be manipulated. Emotions were a bit more complex. He wondered if these roses were the same. He’d never seen them elsewhere. 

“It’s always spring here,” Hermione slipped her hand from his and walked toward the pond. “I thought it might be a good place to train or try a Patronus sometime if you would like.” He nodded. She shed her brown leather jacket and flung it on the ground then smoothly drew her wand and transfigured it into a blanket. Draco wandered closer to her unsure what to do. The witch looked lovely, like spring itself. She casually flopped onto her back sending the smell of fresh grass into the air to mix with the roses, wildflowers, and sweet water. Her skirt fanned around her and she sighed happily. She gazed up at him. He quietly wondered if his meager artistic talents could capture that moment. If nothing else, he would invest in a pensive to save this memory in full. There was absolutely no saving him now. He had a substantial crush on Hermione Granger. 

“Draco,” she reached a hand toward him. He obliged, sitting down gingerly on the soft blanket. "May I ask you something?" She sat up and drew her knees into her chest. She turned her face out to the lake not quite looking at him. He felt her tension as clearly as the soft grass beneath his fingers. He wanted to make a joke about the return of the Grand Inquisitor, but his instincts warned him to tread with care. He simply nodded assent. 

"Why did you turncoat in the war? I know Dumbledore recruited you. That's the story you give everyone. There is something else, though. Isn't there?" He took a breath to answer, but she covered his hand with hers and rushed a quick confession. "The wildflowers are a kind of truth detector. They change colors to indicate lies and partial truths. You don't need to answer if you don't want to." 

He flicked his gray eyes to her and she hunched a little further. "Did you intend to see if I would lie to you?" A sadness that was small but deep crept into him. A bitter voice whispered in his mind.  _ Why would anyone trust you, blood traitor? Death Eater. You've written your loyalty in blood and it's never been enough.  _

"Yes, I did," she admitted, face to her knees. "But I like you too much. I think you've been telling me the truth. It just felt wrong to trick you. I'm sorry." 

The knot in his throat relaxed a little. He stayed silent for several minutes. "Do you know how the Black Mark is bestowed upon its bearers?" 

"There's a ceremony with blood exchanged and oaths then presumably a tattoo… I don't really know much." She ended with uncertainty. 

Draco turned toward the summer house and the roses. He moved his hand from hers and braced himself. "It's not an exchange of blood, but of life energy. It’s a disambiguation of a binding for duels to the death. Two people get the tattoo, the ceremony triggers the enchantment. Once triggered one of the parties has to drain the energy from the other or both will die." He felt Hermione shudder. "Survival of the strongest. It’s one reason we were called Death Eaters. Of course for  _ his  _ followers, a muggle or a squib was always used. Disposable, inferior, and completely defenseless." The wildflowers at his feet had remained white and blue, a pretty carpet of truth. The roses against the house were a different story. They had slowly darkened from white to red to blood crimson. They were the same as his mother’s roses then. 

"I was so proud to be chosen, so eager for my father's mantle. I never even hesitated. I was ready for the fight of my life. I had always imagined a test of wills and talents -- a way to prove my worth beyond a doubt. My father cast the binding spell during the ceremony. He made his only son a murderer. That was the legacy he chose for me." The young wizard gripped his hands into fists. "The man they bound to me was old and practically blind. Certainly not what I expected. He didn't understand what was happening. He thought I was being held prisoner, too. He…" Draco choked on the words for a moment. He had revisited this memory often, but it would never be easy. He had only shared it with two other people, neither of whom were in any position to judge. It mattered that Hermione would know. It mattered that he was destroying the image she must have in her mind of him. He couldn't let her hold his hand, couldn't flirt with her knowing his darkness would horrify her. Better to burn the bridge now. 

"He took my hand to offer me comfort, and I started to drain his life from him. It's a slow process. He still didn't understand what was happening. I could have simply stunned him and waited, but I didn't. I noticed hands had the same calluses as mine,” he absentmindedly rand his thumb over the pads of his fingers. “I asked if he played the guitar. He told me about his life on the road. He toured with bands and saw the world. He was proud of his skills. We talked about this and that. At some point, I realized he was trying to keep me calm. He was worried about me while I was sucking his bloody life away.” Sadness welled up like black tar swirling around him. “I wanted it to stop. I tried to reverse the process, but he couldn't take anything from me, only give. I couldn't stop what had started. So, he died. I felt him die, felt his pain, his confusion, his worry, his hope. The physical pain was bad, but it was like a child's slap compared with the ache in my soul.

"I went to the Headmaster as soon as I could after I got back to Hogwarts in our sixth year." He shook his head and clenched his jaw so hard it was painful. "I turned. I tried. It will never,  _ never _ be enough." He released his fist abruptly. "But at least I didn't become  _ them _ . I never forced anyone else to do that." 

It was quiet for a long time. Draco sunk a little lower, waiting for the disgust and anger that never came. Instead, she started to speak very quietly in the still, warm air. 

"Harry and Ron are,” she paused, searching for words, “they are too good by half. They always wanted to take the honorable way.” She buried her head in the crook of her arm. “But war is not noble. War is not fair.“ She shuddered again. “I made a lot of calls in the war, decisions that cost lives. Many people never came home because I prioritized someone or something else.” When Draco looked over at her she was looking back at him.

“You already know that my parents don’t really remember who I am. I had to obliviate them to protect them.” Her voice cut through the darkness, just over a whisper. “I didn’t tell them, never asked their permission or opinion.” The small witch curled herself over her legs tighter, not bothering to wait for a reply. “My mother isn’t stable anymore. She started remembering fragments but couldn’t make sense of them. My father thinks she’s mad. He put her in an institution.” Her voice was hollow, and matter of fact, and absolutely broken. "It's my fault. My fault she went mad, my fault she can't remember me. My fault she's in that place." She rocked her feet slightly. 

“I'm no better than you," she continued. "I might be worse. I've killed too. I've hurt people I love. I failed to save people that  _ deserved _ to be saved. The press just gave me a prettier pseudonym." He let out a sigh releasing some tension. 

"Which of my monikers do you prefer? Silver-tongued Opportunist? Turncoat Snake? I was always partial to Slytherin Chameleon as it implies some level of skill. Malicious Malfoy was always a bit dull." She leaned against his shoulder as he finished speaking. 

"I'm so sorry, Draco," she murmured against his shoulder. "We were children, really, thinking we could change the world. Imagining we understood the choices we were making. Brave and reckless and foolish and blind the way only teenagers can be." 

He reached out a hand to her and gently stroked her curls. "Wars make messes of everyone, little Lioness. You are better than me on my best day. We all made hard choices, you did your best."

She turned her face to his and he wiped a tear from her cheek. "You did too, you know. When you could choose, you made a difference."

"That's not entirely true, but it's true enough that it gets me through most days." He was too vulnerable with her. He needed to change the discourse. He got up from the blanket reaching for her arms to help her up. "Come on, Grand Inquisitor, it doesn't do to allow your subject to see weakness." 

His smile drew a laugh from her and she offered him one hand while the other gripped her blanket which transformed smoothly back into her jacket as she rose. It was an impressive and elegant bit of magic. "Has anyone told you today that you are a fantastic witch?" Her eyes sparkled with pride at the compliment. 

"I thought I was trying to use a rapier as a club! Nevertheless, you can always tell me how extraordinary I am at least once more," she smiled up at him. "I guess I better get home. I've got a date tomorrow night," Draco stuttered for a moment. Had she forgotten about his invitation? 

"Oh, well I hope you have a lovely time," he held up her jacket for her to don. 

"The first one is going pretty well. I have high hopes for tomorrow," Hermione's eyes held his.  _ Oh _ . She leaned in and up and he leaned down. Their lips met and mingled. One of his hands moved around her waist drawing her in gently, while the other moved up to cup her face lightly running his thumb across her jawline. 

When the kiss broke, he stared down at her for a few moments. “Sweet Circe,” he barely breathed the words. 

“Upon reflection, this date has gone spectacularly well,” she gave him a slow smile. 

“Yeah...yes,” he wanted to articulate how amazing this evening had been simply because he was in her presence, but somehow his brain was busy enumerating the ways he could relive this experience. “Extraordinary witch,” was the best he could muster. 

Her smile grew in brilliance. “Come this way. There is an easy apparition point just outside the gate.” He allowed himself to be led to the spot, but before he apparated, he gently pulled her back into him and kissed her once more. This kiss held more heat, and it was Hermione’s hands that found their way to his neck then into his hair. After a few minutes, she broke away with an attractive blush spreading across her cheeks. 

“So I will see you tomorrow night?” He asked slightly breathless. She nodded at him. Draco glanced back at the roses just visible at the edge of the clearing and found them to be blushing with a delicate pink hue he saw only once in his mother’s garden.  _ Happy anticipation _ . 

Life was turning out to be gloriously unpredictable. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feed the creativity pixies. Kudos and comments are always appreciated. Thank you, thank you, thank you for reading. It warms my cold little heart.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione attends Draco's gig, meets the band, and makes new friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own no characters that you recognize. Ms. Rowling is not responsible for the wicked things I do with her characters. 
> 
> Speaking of which, LEMON AHEAD. This is where I start to truly earn my rating. You have been warned. If you wish to skip it, stop after the ****** indicates a shift back to Hermione's perspective. 
> 
> As always, thank you for reading! Comments make my day!

Hermione stood outside of a standard industrial building at 9 pm on Friday. The building was covered in brightly-colored, looping graffiti from the sidewalk to the rooftop. The streetlights threw light and shadows across every surface, creating patterns on a disjointed palette. Bushwick was not a neighborhood she frequented, and she could not see that changing in the near future. However, this building was a jewel in a rusty crown. 

Music spilled into the night at unsteady intervals as the door open and closed. People came and went in wild arrays of clothes, laughing, drinking, smoking. It seemed fun. And crowded.  _ You can do this _ . She walked up to the door presenting her ticket and ID. The sharp-eyed bouncer looked her over then paused on her ticket. “A bandpass for  _ Facing Dawn _ ? Those guys are good! You know one of them?” He raised his eyebrows. He had a true Brooklyn accent, which she found to be a rare thing. When she first moved here, she expected everyone to sound like a street tough from a movie. In reality, most just sounded like American sitcom actors. 

She nodded, “It’s my first time seeing them. I went to school the guitarist.” 

“Oh, the lead?” He opened the door for her, a sudden rush of heat rushing out into the cool night. “Enjoy.” 

The main room was less crowded, she assumed because they were between bands. Hermione marked each exit and window in the place and checked her wand for the 36th time since she left her apartment. By the time she fetched a drink, people had begun to gather near the stage. She found a place near the left of the stage that prevented anyone from standing too near her flank and waited. Before long the lights dimmed and a spotlight popped to life. A woman and two men walked through the stage door. The petite woman of Asian descent had smile lines around her eyes and silver streaks of hair at her temples. She picked up a bass and began tuning it with intent focus. A pretty boy with a round face, brown hair and large eyes sat behind the drum set. He reminded Hermione of Harry but she couldn’t place why. Grinning and cracking his knuckles, he chatted with the man behind him which, of course, was Draco. 

He was dressed in artfully distressed blue jeans and a black t-shirt that fit too well for Hermione’s general health. As if he could feel her looking, Draco looked up and directly at her. His face lit in an open expression of joy. She tried to recover herself, managing a bewildered smile and a handwave. She’d never seen him so unguarded. He was vibrant and alive with his guitar strap slung around his neck, fingers deftly tuning, gaze shifting to her frequently. Belatedly she noted the woman and the boy -- Tristan she assumed -- glanced at her with consternation and curiosity respectively. 

Before she could reason through any of this new situation, Draco counted the beat and the room began to thrum with sound. They played together like parts of the same being, the bassist was sure and bold, while Draco was agile and impressive quickly flying through a melody with twists and turns. The drum pulsed the heart of the piece, pushing and pulling the others with surgical precision. It was a masterful performance, and Hermione felt herself relax into the music. The end came with an adept bit of ornamentation, and she felt both satisfied and wanting. An eager cry rose from the crowd. The witch observed the audience had swelled again and filled the room with enthusiastic faces. 

“Hello Brooklyn,” Draco drawled in his peculiar, elegant accent. Another appreciative cheer echoed. “That was ‘Wind Chaser’ and we are  _ Facing Dawn _ ,” several whistles and more applause. “Thanks for coming out tonight. This next one is called ‘Dust’.” 

To her surprise, he stayed at the microphone, setting a slower tempo with more pointed harmonies. Then he sang in lovely, if unpolished baritone. 

_ There is a box that sits apart on a shelf _

_ Forbidden to anyone except yourself _

_ Covered in honor and refinement  _

_ You left to consignment  _

_ The blackest secret you’ve kept _

_ I don’t know if this is dust or ashes _

_ I don’t know what’s you and what’s me _

_ I can feel the distance between the truth and a lie  _

_ Is razor’s edge I’m dancing on with bare feet.  _

_ Dust (and ashes) Dust (and ashes)  _

_ Sin’s of those that came before _

_ Unyielding, closed every door _

_ An inherited destiny, given me _

_ A fated hand has been dealt _

_ That’s the lie I always told myself _

_ I don’t know if this is dust or ashes _

_ I don’t know what’s you and what’s me _

_ I can feel the distance between the truth and a lie  _

_ Is razor’s edge I’m dancing on with bare feet.  _

_ Dust (and ashes) Dust (and ashes) _

_ And now that I’m burning you down _

_ It’s not what I wanted to be _

_ All of these ashes around _

_ Not sure if I’m breathing in you or me _

_ And though it feels like losing  _

_ At least I can say I’m choosing _

_ And it’s my choice to bleed  _

_ I don’t know if this is dust or ashes _

_ I don’t know if it’s you or it’s me _

_ I can feel the distance between the truth and a lie  _

_ Is razor’s edge I’m dancing on with bare feet.  _

_ Dust (and ashes) Dust (and ashes) _

Hermione remembered to breathe somewhere around the bridge. Her body felt somehow numb and felt tears on her cheeks. She couldn’t remember the last time she had cried in public. She pushed her way through the crowd to the bathroom. Closing the door, she let herself sob for a few moments then forced composure back onto her features. Why had a single song ripped at her carefully maintained mask? Why did she feel better after the cry? Despite working diligently to find a way through her depression, the best she could do was compartmentalize her war experiences. Then with two songs, an Indie rock band fronted by bloody Draco Malfoy had brought it down? No, she was stronger than this. She checked herself in the small mirror and found the only betrayal to be slight redness around her eyes. She steeled herself and returned to the concert, glazing over a bit to prevent feeling too deeply again. From her removed state, she could analyze that the band was objectively talented and the crowd was obviously familiar with them, singing along with them often. 

By the time Draco stepped up to the microphone for the last time she was well in control of her emotions. “Alright, you Brooklyn bums, [cheer] this is our last song. And wouldn’t you know, it’s Iris’ birthday,” he gestured to the bassist, who rolled her eyes and flipped him the bird. “You fine beggers know what that means, don’t you? [cheer] Let’s send her off right.” The first few notes of ‘Weasley is Our King’ fanned out of his guitar and the whole kaleidoscope of people began singing a birthday version of the song. 

_ Iris is our queen _

_ A year has passed again _

_ That’s why we all sing _

_ Iris is our queen! _

The band waved and left the stage to shouts and whoops. A stage crew began to shift instruments and speakers preparing for the next band. The audience scattered. Some lingered near a door she guessed would be the backstage exit, while others made trips to the bar or bathroom. 

Hermione leaned on the wall and checked her phone which flashed with a message. 

_ Stay where you were. I’ll come to you. - D _

_ Alright, rockstar. - H _

_ Har har. Would you be interested in drinks with the band? I owe Iris a birthday beer, but I can reschedule that. - D _

_ I would be delighted to meet your mysterious and talented bandmates. - H _

Draco appeared in the door not a minute after her last text. Several fans tried to catch is attention and she could feel his sudden discomfort. He was very different on stage, but here, faced with hands thrust out toward him and shouts of “Cohen”, he was obviously awkward. He passed through the gathered fans as gracefully as possible. His cheeks were flushed and his body tense by the time he reached Hermione. He leaned down to whisper in her ear which earned her wistful stares from several audience members. 

“Ready to get out of here?” He asked, bending a little closer than necessary. She nodded with a smile and he took her hand moving toward the side exit. 

****************************

Draco was acutely aware of her small, strong hand resting easily, willingly in his. She looked fantastic in tight dark jeans and a light floral top with her buttery brown jacket over it. He privately wondered when she’d picked up a fashion sense, or if he’d simply grown accustomed to muggle tastes. Once they escaped into the cool night, she pulled him up short. 

“That was amazing. Honestly. I had no idea you could sing. I barely knew you could play. And you wrote many of those songs, didn’t you?” The thrill that shot through him was more than pride at work well done. 

“I wrote the lyrics for the most part. Iris is the true musician among us,” he leaned against the brick of the alleyway with one shoulder. “She can play nearly anything with strings.”

“I don’t play any of them so well as you play guitar,” said a raspy voice just behind him. “That’s the old saying, though, ‘Jack of all trades, master of none’.” She smiled warily at Hermione. 

“I believe the rest of the phrase is ‘oft-times better than a master of one’,” the witch bounced around him cheerily. She glanced at Draco and then thrust out her hand toward the woman. “I’m Hermione Granger. Pleased to make your acquaintance. The show was simply spectacular, and I wish to extend my congratulations on your birthday.” 

Iris took Hermione’s hand and Draco added, “Hermione and I attended school together in Scotland. She might be the smartest person I’ve ever met.” 

Hermione seemed to pause when he said that, glancing at him almost imperceptibly her cheeks turning the same shade of pink as the roses in the garden. Meanwhile, Iris raised an eyebrow and gave him a frank stare. Turning back to the woman in front of her she asked, “Will you be joining us for drinks, Hermione?” 

“I’d love to, if you’ll let me buy you a drink,” she flashed a confident smile, sending a snap of energy up the young wizard’s spine while his heart galloped off to parts unknown. 

Iris eyed him shrewdly and gave him a small smile. She was entirely too well attuned to his reactions. For a moment, he was wistful for the days of Crabbe and Goyle. It was much easier to hide things from people who cared more about the status of your family than your emotional wellbeing. “Well then, any friend of Draco’s with sense enough to offer me alcohol is a friend of mine.” She tilted her head and motioned for them to follow. “Tristan is waiting for us in his car around the corner.” Iris was perfectly aware that he was smitten with Hermione because she knew him -- because she cared. He admitted to himself it was better, even if it was also more annoying. 

“At least she calls you Draco,” Hermione linked arms with him. “It’s extremely disconcerting to hear people call you Cohen.” 

He laughed. “Oh, sure  _ Hermione _ . I told you, it’s not an especially common name here.” 

“It isn’t a common name anywhere,” she chided, tossing her wild curls. 

“To be fair,” Iris added, “Neither is Cohen. It’s more of a last name.” She opened the front door of Tristan’s old Toyota, deftly reaching back to open the back door with practiced ease. The safety locks were permanently engaged in on the back door and required an experienced hand to unlock. “But you’ll have to ask the mastermind, here, why he thought Cohen was better.” 

Tristan craned his neck. “What are you asking me and who is this?” He gave his suave smile which he typically reserved for moms and managers. 

Draco punched his friend lightly on the shoulder. “You know very well who she is. Hermione, this is Tristan. He is incorrigible and primarily responsible for your favorite stage name.” 

“It’s a pleasure, Tristan.” She was earnest in her introduction, her voice lilting. “Please tell me the tale of the legendary  _ Cohen _ . I can’t imagine Draco letting anyone call him by another name at school.” She couldn’t keep the gentle tease from her voice. He rolled his eyes, but felt a smile return to the edges of his mouth. It seemed inevitable when she was with him. 

“Oh, my lady,” Tristan began adopting a terrible accent that she supposed was meant to mimic Draco, “it’s not a long tale. Have you ever seen his face when anyone called him  _ Drake _ . If he could have set me on fire, he might have.” 

Draco shrugged. “I do hate it. I don’t even let Theo do it.” 

“Horrors,” she slipped her hand gently onto his leg, while catching Tristan’s eye in the rearview mirror. “And don’t let him fool you. He could set you on fire. He was positively diabolical back at school.”

"I seem to remember a certain incident with a teacher at a sporting event that would suggest you were far more capable of pyromania than I," she elbowed him lightly. 

"I haven't the faintest idea to what you are referring, Mr. Malfoy." She held her chin up and raised her eyebrows in defiance, but she subtly inched closer to him. 

“I am going to get so much good blackmail material,” laughed Iris glancing briefly back toward them. “Tell me, Hermione, was Draco as helpless at school as he was when he showed up here? The man couldn’t launder his own clothes or order off a menu at McDonald’s.” 

The witch next to him leaned into his shoulder and blinked up innocently. “Oh, I’m sure he was worse.” 

“Your barbs are cruel, madam.” He moved his hand to hold hers, trying not to think about how right she was. 

“To be fair, though, the school would never have allowed us to launder our own clothes and I’m quite sure that he had never set a single toe into any establishment that includes ‘Value Meal’ as part of the menu before you took him to one.” 

Tristan and Iris snickered. She was right of course, but Draco wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction of a confession. 

“My turn,” Tristen twisted in the driver’s seat narrowly avoiding a swiftly peddling cyclist. Draco always felt ill at ease in these rolling death traps. “Where does the accent come from?” 

The wizard frowned in confusion and replied, “You know I’m from England, Tristan. Remember? Little island across the sea? Your lot decided to  _ unsubscribe _ from the Imperial mailing list a while back, but you should remember your elders, at least.”

“I have an ear for accents,” the smiling young man said. Hermione narrowed her eyes and shook her head smiling at Draco, obviously remembering Tristan’s earlier attempt at imitation. “I’ve got several ex-patriot Brits on my friend list and  _ none  _ of them sound like you.” 

Hermione’s lips turned up and she raised one eyebrow, “Ah, I see,” she threaded her fingers through his, her short fingernails grazing his skin lightly. “You don’t know the nuances of the dulcet tones of your Motherland in which location is a factor but also education and class. It’s a bit old-fashioned but still true in some circles. What you hear from Draco is a Wiltshire accent filtered through a prestigious education and  _ extraordinary  _ amounts of money.” 

The car exploded into laughter and Draco tried to hide his embarrassment. His friends knew he had money, or at least his family did. They never talked about it though, as they intuited his familial relations were a bit of a sore spot. Now and again, when money became a problem for either of his bandmates, bills would miraculously disappear or rent would be quietly paid in advance. Neither had ever asked for more or taken advantage of his generosity. Both had thanked him privately and moved on with life as usual. 

“Can we call an end to deposition, Madam Granger? The defendant pleads mercy.” He said softly into her ear. She shivered at his breath on her neck, and he watched a flush reach her cheeks.  _ That _ was worth filing away for later. 

The chatter continued through the evening.She fit in beautifully with his friends. She was enjoying herself, he was relaxed. It was unreal. 

**************

Later that evening Hermione walked with Draco toward her neighborhood just above Central Park. He asked if she would like to use his floo, but she had declined, informing him she’d like to walk from the apparation point to enjoy the evening air. He, naturally, offered to accompany her, as was only polite. 

“You know, your friends are protective,” Hermione smiled up at the handsome wizard who blushed and looked away. 

“Oh, Merlin, what did they say?” She drew him up short, catching his eyes. 

“Hey, that’s a very good thing, Draco.” She threaded her fingers through his pulling him a little closer. “Friends who care vet new people in each other’s lives.” 

He smirked at her, “You are not new in my life, Granger.” He put his characteristic contempt on her name, but laughed despite himself. 

“You know what I mean, you arrogant prat,” she nudged him. She could feel herself flushing, but all she wanted was to get closer to him. 

“Pretend I don’t. Enlighten me, you hopeless swot,” he wove his hand around her waist watching her face. 

Rather than use her words, as her parents had taught her, she pulled him into her mouth and proceeded to demonstrate exactly what she meant. The kiss came to a breathless end a few moments later. She watched him gather his wits for a moment and wondered if he had always been this transparent or if she was getting better at reading him. 

“Does that mean I should expect a second inquisition from The Saint and The Weasel?” He gave her a wry grin, but there was a question there she did not miss. 

“I imagine Harry would have more than a few questions,  _ if _ he knew,” she began walking again, well aware her flat was only a block away now. “Ron wouldn’t say anything at all.” She shrugged, “Where I’m concerned, he consigned himself to a life of mute agreement a long time ago.”

“Surprising wisdom,” he quipped. “I am stunned he had it in him.” 

They were almost to her door. “I want you to come up with me, Draco.” She felt her heartbeat quicken. “I want you to, but I need to make something clear.” They climbed the steps to her stoop and she leaned back against the door training her eyes on his. “I don’t really have romantic relationships anymore. Whatever happens tonight, or any other night is not to be taken as anything more than what it is. Can you be alright with that?” Most men didn’t hesitate or think it over, but Draco wasn’t most men. He ran his finger down the soft leather of her jacket. There was a look of sadness and longing on his face that she remembered from long ago. 

“And what is it? What is tonight?” Hermione loved the way his peculiar accent slid over her like a baritone caress. It was of a different era, and she supposed he was as well in many ways. She reached up and ran a finger along his cool cheek. 

“Passion,” she smiled wickedly, “with a new, old friend.” 

“Where you are concerned,” he slid his hands around her waist bringing her closer, “I’ll take what I can get.” She pushed opened the door grabbing his hand. “I’d rather die of passion than of boredom, right?” 

“God, yes,” she pulled him in and pushed the door shut, hearing her wards re-engage with a zing-snap. His mouth was on hers before she fully turned the lock. He wrapped her waist in his arms again. She reached for his hair, as she wanted to do since their first meeting. The soft curls were pliant beneath her fingers, and he let out a small moan when her trim nails ran against his scalp. Oh she could work with that. 

She arched back panting she asked, “Draco, when did you change your hair?” 

He moved down to her neck, “Didn’t. Just stopped charming it. Where should we go? I’m not opposed to right here against the door, but it’s not as comfortable as it sounds.” 

She laughed again. She loved that he could make her laugh.  _ Dangerous territory, Granger _ . She reminded herself, _nothing serious, just a bit of fun_. “Bedroom. The second door on the right.” 

He muttered something and picked her up as though she weighed nothing.”Malfoy,” her voice slightly breathless and wanting, “did you just cast a weightless charm on me, you snake?” 

He smiled and drug his tongue up her neck, nestling his nose against her earlobe. “Hiss, hiss lioness. You tell me when you stop enjoying it.” Then he carried her down the hallway to the bedroom. She wrapped her legs around his waist and took advantage of her near weightless state to flex herself against his arousal. His knees buckled slightly as he let out a feral yelp. He twisted pinning her to the wall of her bedroom with his hips. The blond wizard drew his wand and cast silencing and see-me-not spells ensuring privacy despite the open windows. Hermione thought she could wait to tell him there were permanent wards for such things already in place already.

Instead she used his momentary distraction to strip him quickly of the black t-shirt that had teased her all evening. He did not disappoint. Even the few scars that littered his skin seemed rather decorative. He paused discarding his wand on a nearby bookshelf. He had a tattoo where his right hip met his waist that ran up his side and disappeared around his back, flowers of all kinds shifted with his muscular frame as he moved. On his left pectoral muscle, just over his heart, was a rune she didn’t recognize. She was so fascinated by the lovely interplay of body and art that she didn’t notice he was waiting for her.

“We can stop, Hermione,” his sharp gray eyes watched her carefully. “This is your choice.” Her blood thrilled at his gentle words and the heat between her thighs became a command. She discarded her shirt and pulled him into another kiss. 

"Not thinking of backing out now, are you?" She raked her fingers down his flanks and relished his hiss and shudder. She suspected he was ticklish under other circumstances. "Not very like the opportunist I've read so much about."

"Lovely lioness, I would hate to disappoint you, and you've neglected a key piece of that moniker." Suddenly, she was without her jeans and knickers. She wasn't sure if it was magic or if he was just that fast. He was kneeling before her supporting her nearly weightless body by resting her thighs on his shoulders and pinning her to the wall with one strong hand. He kissed her inner thigh muscles and looked up at her, silver eyes simmering. 

When she gave him a nod, he proceeded to show her  _ silver-tongued _ was a well-earned nickname. He teased her with his tongue and fingers, allowing the slow build so many men rushed. Hermione lost herself in touch in the movement of teeth and lips and tongue and long fingers that crooked at just the right angle. As her rhythms intensified, she heard and  _ felt _ him moan into her.  _ God _ , it was fucking seductive to know he liked pleasuring her. It brought her to the very edge of her peak. Sensing her readiness, he slowed slightly, lengthening this strokes and reaching up to run a thumb over her pebbled nipple. She crashed, imploding like a star as he persisted. When her waves slowed, he panted up at her. 

"Didn't think it could be better than my dreams," his callused finger teased her nipple again, causing an electric shudder. 

“ _ Finite incantatum, _ ” she muttered bracing herself for the drop from the wall. She slid downward as gracefully as she could and found Draco entranced by her breasts which were now --conveniently-- at his eye level. Hermione pushed him gently and he stood. She placed her hands on his hips and lead him back toward the bed. He let himself be lead, and let her unclasp his belt and remove his jeans. 

He had not mentioned her collection of scars. He neither ignored nor glorified them in his ministrations. She took his lead and as she touched his lovely body. She would ask about the myriad of scars on his legs later. For now, she ran a thumb under the band of his pants and felt the tip of his erection. He moaned softly and his breathing increased. She pushed the meager fabric away and nudged him. He immediately lay back on the bed and stared up at her. 

“By the gods, but you are a beautiful man, Draco Malfoy,” he huffed a laugh at her compliment that quickly turned into a sigh of longing as she trailed her hand up the length of his leg and crawled to straddle him. His eyes were moon-shaded saucers reflecting silver. She tasted the skin over the black tattoo on his waist and savored the desperate sounds he made. This was hers tonight. She would not waste it. Her right hand found his hard length, teasing the silken skin, while her mouth, at last, found his lips. Twisting her left hand into his blond curls, she guided him into her. A growl of relief and completion lingered in the air. Only after she began moving, did Draco move his hands to her hips and begin moving against her rhythms. It was glorious and frantic and singular. He brought her again before flipping her over with grace and skill that belied both experience and agile strength. She cried his name at her third climax and he came with her to the finish line. Both parties relaxed into each other, slack and sated. After a quick clean-up, Hermione let Draco wrap her in his arms, and both drifted comfortably to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments feed the Productivity Pixies. I've not written many steamy scenes, but I enjoyed writing this. Kind feedback is always appreciated. A big thank you to those who have already commented or kudo-ed! 
> 
> To answer a couple of questions:  
1\. Draco calls us "no-mag" because "muggle" has difficult connotations for him.  
2\. Draco was never part of the DA as his turn was a little later than that.  
3\. In my mind, the high-society wizards spoke with an older version of received pronunciation. Wizards' lifespans are longer and they don't seem to watch much television. It stands to reason they would be a bit different, especially those more removed from muggle society. Just my interpretation!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after starts off well and then gets interrupted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing. J.K. Rowling is not responsible for the indecent choices I make with her characters. I've taken liberties with many things, including the mechanics of certain spells, although I don't think they are outside the realm of possibility given what we know in the text. I love feedback, so please comment! I am a squishy-hearted author so please be kind. 
> 
> Also, pancakes in Great Britain are more akin to crepes than the fluffy American style.

Hermione had not intended to have Draco stay the night, but she slept so well she didn’t wake until he was already up, dressed and making breakfast. He had a preposterous amount of flour on his black shirt, but her kitchen was nearly spotless. He slid a plate with 2 fluffy pancakes over to her with a self-satisfied smile and sat with his own plate across her small table. 

“You are a traitor to Queen and country, you know,” she smirked at him as she sunk her fork into her breakfast. 

“Well, no one at home taught me to make pancakes, so mine are American style,” he shrugged his shoulders. “It’s also the _ only _ thing I have ever managed to make that worth eating.” 

Her first bite was light and sweet and satisfying. “You are forgiven your treachery, but only because these fluffy abominations are delicious.” 

“Sweet mercy,” he smiled around a bite. “Worth every flip.” She felt her heart skip and warmth spread through her. She watched him, still taking neat bites of her decadent breakfast. 

He cast his striking gray eyes down toward his nearly empty plate and pulled one side of his lower lip between his teeth. After a moment he said, “If you keep looking at me like that, Lioness, I will have to postpone my carefully laid plans of bidding you a gentlemanly farewell after breakfast and take you back to bed.” 

Hermione made a habit of questioning everything. She looked at every angle of a thing, then turned it over and looked again. Somehow she didn’t feel like questioning the drive that led her to rise from her chair and round the table. He lifted his eyes to hers as she moved his plate and sat in its place. “Is that a promise?” 

Half a second of palpable tension passed and then he rose slowly, closing the distance between them. He placed a hand on her hip and threaded the other through her tangled mess of bed head. “Only if you ask, sweet Lioness.” 

She leaned forward and crashed into his lips. He hummed longing into her and she drank it like fine wine. Wrapping one leg around him, she pulled him fully against her body. Then...

“Hermione? Hermione, are you there? Please be there!” A voice echoed from her fire, desperate and crackling. 

She gasped, gently but quickly pushing Draco aside. “Gerry?” She scrambled into her sitting room rearranging her clothing as she went. “Gerry, I’m here. What’s wrong?” 

“Can you come? It’s the kids. They are terribly sick. I want to take them to St. Meridus but they are refusing.” Her friend’s face was in the fire, worried and frantic. "The higher-ups are citing protocol for disease control against non-magical _ beings _ . They are calling my children _beings_ as though they are less than human. I can't take them to a mundane hospital. They expose people to poison just to detect a broken bone for God's sake! I can barely string my thoughts together, I'm so worried.”

“I’ll be through in ten minutes. Will you be alright until then?” The older witch nodded, eyes wide and worried then disappeared. 

Draco was leaning on the doorframe with a concerned look. She tried to form an explanation but found herself searching for words. “I gather there is an emergency that involves sick children. Please don’t feel the need to explain further. Go take the quickest shower known to man. I’ll finish cleaning up and gather a few things.” She nodded and did as he said. 

By the time she rinsed herself and put on her official Ministry robes, she feared she would be late. True to his word, Draco had everything tidy and a small bag with drawstring closure waiting for her. 

“It’s my emergency med-kit. Several potions to help with a variety of illnesses and injuries. I trust you know the basics?” She nodded gripping the small bag with nervous fingers. “I’m here if you need any help.” He slipped her mobile phone into her robe’s inner pocket. “That’s probably fastest. You can owl if you’d rather.” 

She nodded distracted with the thousand questions cramming into her mind. She marched to the fireplace grabbing the floo powder from the decorative vase on the mantle. Reality caught up with her a half-second before she dropped the floo powder. She turned on her heel and stepped confidently back to the startled wizard behind her. “Thank you, Draco. I… this was… I wish I didn’t need to go.” 

He quirked a smile on one side of his mouth, “You call the shots, oh Fierce One. I’m always here if you need an old, new friend.” He shrugged and she tried to ignore the drop she felt in her stomach. She leaned in on her tip-toes and kissed him. 

“I’ll remember that,” then she turned and made her way to the floo and vanished in a flash of green. 

**************************

He watched her wrapped in green smoke, worry clearly written in the set of her mouth. Then she was gone. After she disappeared he stood there surrounded by bits of her life. Everything felt a little less vibrant with her gone. He felt himself deflate slightly, coming down from the strange high that had been the last 48 hours. He sighed and a smile spread across his face. Even if she never looked at him again, it would be worth it. He would go to his grave with the memory of being hers for a night, the memory of her coming undone above him (_ and _ beneath him), the memory of her in his arms asleep. 

He found a small piece of paper and wrote a few lines, taking more care with his broad scrawl than usual. Then he folded the paper and transfigured it. Draco was not the talent Hermione was with transfiguration, but the bird took flight and circled the room until it lit lightly on the mantle. It preened and then tucked his head under his wing to wait. 

His mobile phone chirped and Tristan's number flashed. "_ This is the worst hangover in the history of hangovers. Bring me your magic cure, before I lose yesterday's lunch." _ He rolled his eyes with a patient smile. A second ding. " _ Also, I like her. I assume by your absence in my hour of need that you do too." _

Draco shook his head and stepped into the hearth with a flash of green. 

****************************

Hermione stepped over her threshold 7 hours later, smelling of sickness and sweat. The official robes and a delicately pulled string or two had finally done the job. Both children were convalescing at St. Meridian, much to the dismay of the administrator and relief of the lead medi-witch. Draco's fever reducer had worked wonders, but both children were still in precarious stages of illness. Brantley was small for 7-year-old, but he looked absolutely tiny in the hospital bed. His fever-glazed brown eyes gazed at her with confusion when she tucked him under the blanket. Asha never opened her eyes, not even when she was levitated into the floo. It terrified Hermione. St. Meridus would take care of them now. She had to believe that. 

Something white and winged flitted around her head and made warbling chirrup. Hermione froze for a moment and watched the paper peacock circle her head again. It had to be Draco’s work, though she had never seen something so delicate from him. The little bird cried again and the witch held out her hand. The small, paper-wrought creature perched on her hand for a moment and then unfolded. Calligraphic letters blended into a poem. 

_ She walks in beauty, like the night _

_ Of cloudless climbs and starry skies; _

_ And all that’s best of dark and bright _

_ Met in the aspect of her eyes: _

_ Thus mellowed to that tender light _

_ Which heaven to gaudy day denies. _

There was a beat of silence after she read the poem, one of her favorites, authored by Lord George Byron. Then she pushed a bit of her magic into the construct to reignite its magic. The peacock reappeared and flitted away again. 

She pulled her mobile phone from the pocket of her robes. 

“_ Are you free tomorrow afternoon? - H” _

Several minutes went by and she changed from her robes and started the water for a bath. 

“_ I am at your disposal. Is everyone okay? - D” _

"_ All will be well I believe. Meet me at The Greenhouse at 3 in the afternoon. I'd like to train if you are still amenable to that. - H" _

_ "Amenable? Delighted. Then I can take all the credit for your inevitable success." _

"_ Yes, by all means. I want to learn about your rapier technique and its superiority to all others. - H" _

There was longer than usual pause before her phone gave a musical _ ding. "I will endeavor not to disappoint, Lioness. - D" _

_ "You haven't yet, Draco." _There was another pause so long that Hermione was already in the bath by the time the text came through. 

"_ 3 pm at the door to The Greenhouse. I'll see you then _." 

The next afternoon, Hermione found that Draco was an extremely rigorous teacher. He was exacting and rather unforgiving. She also learned that he was absolutely right about her current offensive casting style. With his adjustments, her offensive magic became -- not more powerful -- but more precise. Just as a bullet does more damage than a baseball bat when applied appropriately. 

“I think that’s enough for today.” The tall wizard stretched his arms, releasing the held tension. 

“Let me try one more time,” she said resuming the position. A faint smile crossed the wizard’s face and he shrugged in reluctant consent. 

“None can say you are not determined, Lioness,” he lined up across from her. "Now, concentrate on your form and let the rest happen." 

She detested the idea of _ letting it happen _ . In her experience, nothing _ just happened _ . Someone put in tireless effort to _ make it happen. _ Still, she grounded her feet and reached for the magic feeling the way it flowed through her body, clearing the path to her wand. It required extraordinary effort, but as soon as she felt the magic wrap around her wand she shot her wand out in an aggressive sweep and muttered _ bombarda. _

Draco shielded and deflected the blow but not before he was knocked several feet backward. His bright eyes stared at her wide and incredulous. 

“Damn,” he blinked with a slow smile. “That will most certainly do.” 

“Again!” She bounced on the balls of her feet and then swayed, overcome with sudden dizziness. 

“Law of equals. You sacrifice a bit of physical energy to conserve and direct your magic. You may tend toward drawing a bit more energy than necessary at first,” he steadied her with a hand on her shoulder. “You can build your efficiency and endurance with practice.” He summoned a water bottle and sat with her on the soft green grass. She noticed that he had barely broken a sweat, and privately cursed that she had damp hair and sweat stains the size of the Indian Ocean. _ Well, time to make you work a little, _ she thought. 

“Tell me what you know about the Patronus Charm,” she said, leaning forward toward Draco and curling into her knees. 

“You really don’t…” he hesitated at the look on her face which much have warned against brushing her offer off. “I know the movement,” he demonstrated perfectly precise and correct motions. “I know the words: _ expecto patronum _,” nothing happened, not even a spark. “I know you are meant to concentrate on a happy thought that his formative to you,” he closed his eyes. Then he tried again in the same manner -- a small bit of red sparking from his wand. 

She frowned thinking. After a pause of several seconds, she spoke again. “Everyone says ‘find a happy thought’ as if we are in a live retelling of Peter Pan,” she shrugged. “For me, it’s a bit different. I tried with a number of things before I found a few that reliably worked. Harry and Ron use the same memory every time, but I wanted to understand why some of my fondest memories didn’t work, while others did.” Draco smiled at her nodding. 

“I have done the same. I’ve cycled through as many purely happy memories as I can muster. None of them work.” He lay back into the grass, lazily making circles and figure-eights with his wand. 

“Let me guess,” she lay back and mimicked his motions. “The first time you rode a broom?” 

“That was the first or second one I tried,” He sighed and cast the spell. Nothing. 

She laughed, “You and Harry are more alike than you realize.” 

“Did it work for him?” She shook her head. 

“I think you need to feel connected to at least one other person and that person needs to make you feel loved or safe in some way,” she murmured. “My first attempted was the first time I saw the library at Hogwarts.” She waved her wand and a single silver spark went skyward and returned. “Didn’t even get that when I tried the first time.” 

“Let _ me _guess one,” she laughed and nodded at him. 

“The first ‘Exemplary’ you received from McGonagall?” She narrowed her eyes at him with a sly grin. He could only know that McGonagall gave that particular mark if he had received one as well. She generally gave them sparingly and didn't want to discourage the other students. She cast with similar results to her previous casting. 

“Again, too solitary,” she thought for a moment. “Your sorting at Hogwarts?” 

He laughed and cast. Nothing. “Pride and happiness are two different things, Granger. My turn.” He hummed. “So something happy that involves others. Returning to Hogwarts on the train for our second year with Potter and Weasley.” She smiled and cast again, this time silver sparks formed a mist. 

“Closer. How about your first kiss,” he frowned. 

“I haven’t tried that one but I suspect it won’t work,” he cast again and two silver sparks flew from his wand. He stared at them in disbelief. 

“Why did you think it wouldn’t work?” She studied his face as he watched the sparks descend. 

“Because she’s dead,” one spark hit his outstretched hand. “It rather colors the memory.” 

“I’ve found most memories that work for me have a tint of sadness over the happy. Harry too.” She shrugged. He thought for a moment. 

“Learning you were a witch,” he said quietly. She cast and her familiar full-bodied otter burst forth dipping and diving playfully after finding no foe. Draco watched it in the gathering dark of the day. She could only read wonder in his expression. 

“Learning your first song,” she took his left hand and rubbed the calluses there. “Have you tried that?” 

He tightened his jaw and shook his head. Turning toward her with a hint of deep sadness, he cast again. Silver light poured from the tip of his wand and swirled about for a moment before coalescing into a bright silver fox. The fox danced in a circle around the witch and wizard before the otter began a catch me if you can game. After a few moments, both faded. 

"I didn't know your father played the guitar." She knew her instinct was right. Why else would he avoid the question so pointedly? 

His eyes were closed and he didn’t reply for a long time. “He learned from an old master in Spain. He always played acoustic, never liked the electric guitar,” he pulled his bottom lip between his teeth again. “I thought myself very rebellious for favoring it. I was an incredible idiot.” 

She closed her hand around his. She felt him hesitate for the slightest of moments before threading his fingers through hers. They stayed that way for a long time, watching the stars winking into visibility in the dusky sky. 

“Draco, would you like to come back to my flat?” He looked over at her, questioning. “The rules are the same. Just right now. Just tonight.” 

He looked at her with a mixture of hunger and sadness, before nodding and pulling her closer. “As I said before, Lioness, I’ll take whatever you are willing to give. It’s already more than I deserve.” 

For the first time, Hermione thought that might not be true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. Please leave comments/kudos if you can. Those creativity pixies are a hungry lot, and they only eat feedback! 
> 
> Also, pancakes in Great Britain are more akin to crepes than the fluffy American style.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Over the next week, Draco and Hermione try to solve a mystery and have a difficult time drawing boundaries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own *nothing* that you recognize. The wise and powerful Ms. Rowling is not responsible for anything I do to her delightful characters...especially in this chapter. 
> 
> This is some character development, a tiny bit of plot to satisfy the story monster and a near-fatal amount of *smut* and *fluff*. You have been warned. Please proceed with caution. Was the majority of this chapter entirely necessary to the story? Probably not. Was it needed for my sanity this week? YES, okay. 
> 
> Please leave me a comment/kudo. They make me very happy. Kind criticism and questions are always welcome too. 
> 
> A couple of notes at the end.

Draco woke alone in her t-shirt soft sheets as the small clock on the wall struck three o’clock in the morning with a soft ting. He searched blearily for a few moments, finding no Hermione. He spied a flickering light in the hallway, so pulled on his pants and quested out. He found her sitting at the piano in the comfortable room with the fireplace. She had a spell over herself and the piano that muffled the sound but as he passed through it, the music blossomed forth as if in an excellent acoustic room. Her back was straight and her feet poised on the pedals, while her hands moved lightly across the keys. She was wearing shorts and an oversized jumper that hung off one shoulder. It was ridiculously attractive.

He slid quietly into a nearby chair but managed to knock a book from its precarious perch on the side table. Hermione jumped and quickly palmed her wand. Draco stilled, hands in the air. “It’s only me,” she relaxed, but he noticed the visible tremor of her hand indicative of an adrenaline rush. “Couldn’t sleep?” 

“I can usually only get 2 or 3 hours at a time. I didn’t want to wake you,” she looked up through her lashes. 

“You play well,” he tried to put her at ease with a smile. “Does it help you relax?” She nodded. “I’m the same with the guitar. Love to know this spell,” he gestured at the edges of the spell, “It’s a bit more practical for practice than my usual. Great acoustics.” He snapped to illustrate his point and the sound was crisp with a slight reverberation. 

“It’s simple enough,” she shrugged. “I can show you.”

“Later, keep playing. What was that anyway?” She smiled back at him with a hint of trepidation. 

“Not sure I can measure up to a rock god,” she quipped hiding her earnest fear under sarcasm. Unfortunately for her, he knew that trick intimately. 

“No deities here, Granger. No judgment either. Just play. Or don’t and come back to bed,” he roved over her exposed legs. She hesitated, looking back at him hungrily. But eventually, she turned back to the piano. 

“My father played this song over and over in the car when I was little. It was my mom’s favorite. The most interaction I’ve had with them since the war was when I played it at my mother’s facility. They have performers come in occasionally to entertain. It’s the only place I play any more.” She began the familiar melody again. Then she sang in a sweet clear alto, crescendoing in the chorus and the bridge. 

_ Take me now, baby here as I am _

_Pull me close and try to understand _

_Can’t find my way and my heart hurts _

_But stay with me now til the morning comes _

_Come on now and try to understand _

_The way I feel when I’m in your hands _

_Take me now as the sun descends _

_They can’t hurt you now, can’t hurt now, can’t hurt you now _

_Because the night belongs to lovers _

_Because the night belongs to us _

_Because the night belongs to lovers _

_Because the night belongs to us _

_What I’ve got I have earned _

_What I’m not, baby I have learned _

_Desire and hunger is the fire I breathe _

_Just stay in my bed til the morning comes _

_Come on now and try to understand _

_The way I feel when you’re in my hands _

_Let me take you now as the sun descends _

_They can’t hurt me now, can’t hurt me now, can’t hurt me now _

_Because the night belongs to lovers _

_Because the night belongs to us _

_Because the night belongs to lovers _

_Because the night belongs to us_

_Your love recedes with doubt_

_The vicious circle turns and burns without_

_And though I can’t see how, forgive me now _

_The time has come to take this moment in._

_They can’t hurt us now, can’t hurt us now, can’t hurt us now_

_ Because the night belongs to lovers Because the night belongs to us _

Draco had always been a natural with occlumency in part because he was a gifted Empath. He could read emotions from across the room before he was eight years old. Of course, he was trained early and well to maintain a solid shield. It was, naturally, an aid to him at times. Early in his school career, he used it shamelessly to maintain his princely status. It didn’t take much to ascertain which was the best compliment or how to hurt someone deepest. Then he had lived through the Dark Lord’s reign of terror and experienced things that would never leave the shadows of his memory and _felt_ them through others. Now he tried to keep a respectful distance, except when he was playing or singing, which was mostly outgoing signal. But Hermione was practically shouting emotionally speaking. She was radiating pain, regret, sorrow, and the sweetest tinge of hope. 

He wasn’t sure when it happened, but by the end his cheeks were wet. He could hear all of her carefully concealed pain, the way she tried, how deeply every failure had wounded her. Such displays of reckless emotion were frowned upon in the Malfoy household. He couldn’t help it though, music was always his weakness. 

“That was,” he struggled past the lump in his throat, ”That was beautiful. Thank you.” She turned at the sound of his voice. Swinging her legs over the piano bench and watching him with an unreadable look. She got up carefully and spanned the distance between them with two steps. With no hesitation, she straddled his legs. Bringing her hands to his face she wiped his tears with her thumbs. Their contact was immediately electric. She took his mouth into a kiss and he ran his hands under her soft shirt. Her skin pebbled beneath his touch and his calloused fingers lovingly traced the puckered scars hidden there. She keened into his kiss. Nyx and the Nine she had him ready faster than he thought possible. 

He shoved gently at her shirt. She left his lap for the briefest of moments discarding her jumper and shorts. Then she returned bare and golden in the firelight. He took one nipple between his teeth biting gently before soothing it with his tongue. Meanwhile, his unoccupied hands cupped her arse and brought her close. He wanted to taste her again, but she was already arching with pleasure and crying out wordlessly. Her curly hair swayed as she bowed backward and pressed herself against him. 

“Can I take you here, Draco?” She reached down between them sliding her hand lithely beneath the waistline of his pants. Her small hand ran his length and hitched his breath. Her eyes were filled with lust and tenderness. Had he ever been wanted like this? Was she some avenging angel here to give him fantasies he never knew were possible then take them away? Right now he didn’t care. If this was what he got, just here and now, that was more than he could possibly deserve. 

“Hermione, _fuck,_ you can have me, _ holy Hecate,_ where ever and whenever you want me,” he finally panted out the last as she ran his cock through her wetness. They both moaned with anticipation. 

“Tell me you know it’s just for tonight,” she whispered against his neck nipping him with a little more force than before. 

“I know,” he stuttered. 

And then he was inside her surrounded by her supple warmth. She swore and cried his name. The best he could do was breathe for a few moments. He gathered his fortitude enough to place his hands on her hips and lower his mouth to her pert nipple. She arched her back again and began to rotate her hips slowly. “Yes, _fuck,_ Draco,” his name took several seconds. He had never loved his given name so much. 

“Shit, Hermione, I was wrong. There is a deity here. Let me worship you.” She sped her hips gripping his shoulders. Lowering her face as she brought his up with one hand, letting her forehead rest against his. 

“And what goddess do you worship then? Aphrodite? Venus?” She huffed a laugh and shook her head. “Perhaps Athena, since you know my legendary swottiness.” 

Draco brought one hand to her face while the other slid between her thighs and found her clit. “You are both stunning and brilliant, but no,” He made slow circles mirroring the rhythm of her hips. “You are Calypso on an angry sea. You are Hecate under the moon. You are Circe in her full power.” She was gazing into his eyes, her brown orbs shifting with intensity and her white teeth biting her lower lip. “Great and terrible and beautiful and wise,” her inner walls were fluttering. “I am in awe of you, Hermione.” She sped her hips abandoning the circles in favor of rapid rocking and Draco rose to meet her. She threaded her hands through his hair and pulled tilting his head back and kissing him frantically. He held off his climax with everything he had until, at last, she broke. She shattered around him so perfectly he had no choice but to follow.

They collapsed into each others’ arms, both shaking and gasping. She nestled into his shoulder with small kisses and a contented sigh. “God, Draco, you are the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen when you come undone.” Her fingers traced the long scar across his torso. He laughed. 

“I’m not sure if I should be flattered by that, Ms. Granger. Aren’t men usually handsome or masculine or the like?” He captured one of her curls between his fingers absently twirling it. 

“To use an American phrase, _ I call them like I see them,_” he felt her shift off him and couldn’t help the small moan at the loss. “Come back to bed with me?” 

She stood in front of him holding one of his hands. He found himself staring at the web-working of scars moving over her lithe form. She was dynamic and breath-taking, and he wanted to wrap her in his arms and never let go. Instead, he checked his childish need for possession and took her hand. He reminded himself what her parameters were and committed to being fully present for whatever she was willing to give. “As the goddess wishes,” he gave her what he hoped was a playful wink and pulled himself off the chair. His legs were unsteady for a moment, but he recovered quickly. They both muttered cleansing spells nearly simultaneously. She led him to bed and crawled in, before dragging him under the covers with a sleepy smile.

***************************

Despite her best efforts to resist, over the next week Draco ended up in Hermione’s bed more than once. There was a very good reason for Sunday. Tuesday she called to return the medical potions kit she had borrowed and forgotten to return, which of course had necessitated a meal to thank him for his generosity. She passed on the head healer's compliments on the fever reduction potion along with a request for the supplier. He made all his potions himself, it turned out. Of course, he did. He had been quick and adept with potions in school. He talked with her of magical theory as it applied to potions and how it related to the techniques she had learned over the weekend. It was practically primer lesson one in _ How to Seduce Hermione Granger _. She couldn’t be blamed for shagging him soundly. 

Thursday he called to inquire about the children and thank her for securing his promotion to primary curse-breaker, no secondary attendant required for potentially combative situations. She congratulated his success, but informed him Asha and Brantley were in no better condition. Worse, others had begun to show similar symptoms. All victims thus far were either squibs or muggles with close relations to a witch or wizard, and the healers hit an impasse. Congratulatory/consolatory drinks had lead to one thing and then another. 

By Friday she didn’t bother with an excuse to invite him over. By ten in the evening, he was sprawled face down on her bed, throwing ideas at the wall with her. They had begun picking apart the problem of the mysterious illness earlier in the evening. After a break for some _ rigorous activity _and nourishment, Draco had suggested a new round of thought based on the idea of an unknown pathogen that could be spread by a magical signature but which did not affect magic folk in the same way. 

“... Like typhus. What was the name of that woman Iris told me about? Mary, Typhoid Mary.” Hermione hummed mulling that over in her mind. 

“There is nothing bacterial or viral apparent in Asha’s system. Brantley had a mild ear infection. The others are similar, even in the ones in muggle hospitals. Why do you think it needs to be magical?” She was running her fingers idly over his back in swirls and sweeps which made him sigh contentedly periodically.

“The only people infected have magical ties. It might masquerade as influenza, but the general population isn’t getting sick. It’s only those with ties to the magical community. Especially high infection rates at MACUSA.” Hermione had come to similar conclusions, but hearing Draco echo her fears solidified her thoughts. 

“Perhaps a curse? They can be subtle and nearly undetectable without foreknowledge.” He scrunched his nose with a frown. 

“Black magic always leaves a mark, Granger. I can go have a look if you think they may have missed something more subtle. There aren’t many curses that can be passed on like a virus.” 

“Come with me tomorrow then? I doubt very much there is a curse, but I would feel better if we eliminated the possibility. You could tell if there was black magic at work if anyone could. ” He craned his neck to look at her for a moment a question in his eyes, then turned and nodded an affirmative. 

She brushed lightly over the ink of the tattoo on his right side. Calligraphic letters she recognized as his own penmanship appeared with her touch. _ Et in Arcadia ego. _ The flowers subtly shifted making a Death's Head visible through the buds and blooms. _ And in Arcadia, I am. _She knew that phrase from somewhere. The muscles of his back tensed and she glanced up to see him looking at her through his dark lashes. 

“A purple hyacinth - for sorrow,” he didn’t move, gray eyes watching her fingers. “Monkshood - for warning, also poisonous.” She slid her fingers over another clump of dark purple flowers then to an orange and pink bud, “Oleander - for caution, poisonous. Narcissus - selfishness, and…” she didn’t add your mother. It seemed insulting. “And Lily of the Valley, which has many meanings and is also poisonous.” She watched the flowers move again with her touch. When she looked up again his eyes were closed and the worry lines around them were prominent. 

“We should plan tomorrow’s visit carefully. I don’t want to cause a scene,” she heard him try to divert the conversation but ignored it. 

“Then the Death’s Head, obviously_ death_, but also release -- acceptance,” she continued and he reached back to stop her hand’s progress. 

“Please, Hermione, stop,” she heard the warning somewhere in the raceway of her mind as it made connections and theories, but she was in puzzle-solving mode. 

“But it’s hidden so it could also mean betrayal or deceit. Then there’s the Latin…” He cut her off and shoved her hand away. 

“Is nothing safe from your devastating _knowledge,_ Granger?” He rolled away from her sitting up and searching for his clothes. His hurt was palpable. “Do you ever leave anything be? Have you ever kept a respectful distance from a subject? Must you stick a finger in my wounds?” 

She curled in on herself, as was her habit. He was right, she had been more focus on decoding the message than whether she _should_ decode it. She missed the warning in his stiffness, in his gaze. She had done what she did best, what she always did. She leveled everything in her path on a regular basis, because she wanted the fastest way to answers. Logos sine pathos. Thoughtless in her knowledge. Cutting in her insight. And now he would leave. And that wouldn’t matter. Right? 

But he didn’t leave. He sighed and bowed his head, then lay back down next to her. “I’m sorry. That was an overreaction.” He reached toward her, and she felt the warmth of his hand on the small of her back. “Sometimes it just feels as though I have no walls with you. No boundaries. I’ve dealt with things in my own way, and it is a little shocking to my system to be so transparent to someone else.” 

Hermione didn’t look at him but nestled down beside him. “I’m sorry, Draco,” she put her forehead against his shoulder. "I don't know how to turn it off most of the time."

He shifted, pulling her into the comforting circle of his embrace. She pressed her nose to his neck where she inhaled his increasingly familiar scent of herbs, oils, and aftershave. "You don't need to apologize for being your brilliant self, Hermione. Not to me. I inscribed a message. I am not allowed to be childish because someone was clever enough to read it." She quietly hoped he couldn't feel the dampness of a few shed tears. "In my defense, I didn't think I would be lounging _déshabillé_ with the most brilliant woman of the century." He rumbled a laugh and pressed a kiss to her tangled hair. The warmth that settled in her middle had nothing to do with sexual desire. 

"Honestly, I don't know the deeper meaning of the Latin." She confessed. "I know I've read it or seen it somewhere."

“This would be a mystery for precisely the time it would take you to get to a library,” he wrapped his strong hand around her hip and squeezed gently. “You’ll have crossed referenced and entirely over analyzed it before noon tomorrow.” He began to run his fingers lightly over her exposed thigh, which was terribly distracting. “_ And in Arcadia, there I am. _I am sure you got that far,” she nodded trying not to squirm under his touch. “As you well know, Arcadia is…” 

“A paradise on Earth. Idyllic and pastoral. Also, a real place in the Peloponnesian Peninsula that came to symbolize the aforementioned earthly paradise to the Greeks, Romans and most Western cultures that came after them.” He smirked down at her. 

“Full marks, Ms. Granger, but if you continue to flirt with your instructor the lesson will be cut short in favor of more athletic pursuits.” She popped up on one elbow with an offended sound. 

“I have _ not _ been flirting, _Malfoy,_” the outburst did not have the intended effect, as she was completely naked and on full display in this position.

“You know the effect your swotty little brain has on me,” instead of the newly visible real-estate southward. He reached his hand out to her jaw and gently stroked its line. Her heart rate sped by several ticks at the small shared intimacy. She quickly distracted herself from_ that _distressing situation. 

“Arcadia.” He blinked and frowned at her words, “You are in it apparently?” 

“Ah, no, not exactly,” he dropped his hand and averted his eyes. “_ Ego _ is Death in this context.” She felt the distance between them as he recessed into his thoughts. “Even in paradise, there is death. It is a sentiment that helps me cope with the war, with before the war. It helps me contextualize now.” 

Hermione considered his words nestling back into him. “A _ memento mori _.” She ran her hand along the puckered scar at the center of the star-shaped cluster on her right flank. “Do you miss your life before the war?” 

He smiled wistfully, “How could I not miss it?” He hooked her leg with his arm and flopped her onto her back popping up above her with mischief in his grey eyes. “I had money,” he kissed her neck. “I had status,” he dipped down and captured one nipple causing a pleasant zing to race down her body. “I was the King of Hogwarts,” she snorted her derision at the title until he dipped his tongue into her navel and her laugh became more like a moan. “Fine, a Slytherin Prince at least,” he nipped at her hip. “I had a perfectly fantastic life planned,” he looked up at her with a sinful smile. “Too bad it was a colossal lie,” he nipped the inside of her thigh. 

“Was it so bad?” She said, arching, “Th...th..that it was a lie.” 

There was a beat of silence before he licked her core bringing a sharp ecstatic cry from her. “No, Lioness, it wasn’t _ so _bad.” She could hear his smile as he caressed her pet name. Then she could feel it. She had to give the wizard credit, he had found a very tidy way to stop her line of questioning. That was a problem better to solve on another day. He laughed as she greedily shifted to allow him better access. Perhaps, she thought, this a problem never to solve at all. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes:  
\- "Because the Night" would have come out the year before Hermione was born. The most popular version is by Patti Smith, but I quite enjoy the live Bruce Springstein version (He wrote the music, she wrote most of the lyrics, I took a few liberties)  
\- Memento Mori are very much a thing. Go forth and check them out.  
-The quote on Draco's tattoo comes from a 1638 painting by Nicolas Poussin which was influenced heavily by Greek classical art and did its own influencing.  
\- All of the flowers have medical usefulness, and thus I imagine would be used in potions as well. Their meanings are also accurate according to Victorian flower symbolism. 
> 
> THANK YOU for reading. It's been a rough week, but it helps to write. I would love a comment or a kudo if you have the time.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Hermione and Draco visit a hospital and begin to unravel a mystery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU to everyone reading this and giving me feedback! 
> 
> I own nothing except the characters you DON'T recognize and the storyline. Please don't copy this story elsewhere. It's not much, but it's mine. 
> 
> I'm sorry I didn't update last week. The holidays are a bit chaotic.

Draco paced the well-lit gleaming Halls of St. Meridius. Hospitals were always hard for him. Anguish and sorrow hung in the hallways and nestled in the alcoves. Anxiety and weariness settled in the creases of the bedding, the sag of the chairs, the sound of the tired footsteps of the healers. The children’s ward was worse. A mother’s fear battered the shield of his emotional resolve. He retreated further, making a study of it as he had been trained. _Analyze it. Dissect and strategize. Ignore the anxiety swirling around you like a flood. Ignore the taste of blood and bile in your mouth. _

Hermione touched him on the arm and he twitched violently, startled by her presence. He nearly dropped the extraordinarily rare crystal in his hands and let out a small hiss of exasperation. 

“Are you alright, Draco?” Her pretty brown eyes scrutinized him. “I didn’t mean to scare you.” 

“Hospitals are hard,” he said in a soft low voice, trying to keep his discomfort tamped down. To his surprise she didn’t ask follow-up questions, simply nodding and canting her head in thought. He straightened his shoulders and lifted his chin. “I brought something that might help.”

He held out the crystal for her inspection. She took it from his hand and examined it curiously. “What is it?” 

“It’s a True Sunstone,” he watched her face waiting for the gasp of excitement and breathless exposition on the rare and valuable nature of this stone. Instead, she crinkled her nose and screwed her lips to the side. 

“A Sunstone?” 

“A  _ True _ Sunstone,” he smirked at her. “Could you tell me where the owlery is?” She absentmindedly pointed toward a hallway to the left. “Good, I must owl the  _ News Temporale  _ that the Great Granger was stumped on this day.” She cut her eyes toward him with both annoyance and merriment. 

“I would have the research done before they owled you back,” she said with a prim smile. “Or you could stop being a git and tell me.” 

“Hmmm, doesn’t sound much like me,” her smile blossomed and the anxiety around him faded, pushed back by the force of his delight. Some utterly inane part of his brain flashed out a warning, but the rest preened under the soothing wash of her smile -- the  _ real  _ one that she rarely showed. “This,” he plucked it out of her hands and walked toward an open window, “is a Sunstone. The Norsemen of Scandinavia were famous for them. They used them to navigate on cloudy days and find a true course.” He reached the open window and held the crystal into the light. Rainbow prisms bounced off the walls in mad arrays until he moved the crystal just so revealing a pinpoint of light. “On open land or open water, they could position themselves according to the sun.” 

“I remember this bit,” she said, taking the crystal and mimicking his movements until she found a concentrated beam of light. “I thought it was amusing to think of big hairy vikings playing with pretty stones.” Unfocusing the crystal, she sent a rainbow across his face, “But we aren’t trying to navigate the ocean here.” 

“No, we are not. We are trying to discover something. To shed light on darkness, if you will. Ancient Scandinavia had wizards, too. Some of them happened to be vikings. One of the problems with pillaging tends to be this: people protect what is valuable to them. If you are a wizard with a penchant for stealing who frequently finds himself in tight situations, you might want to make something that would show you magic laid onto things. If you were an exceptionally clever wizard, you might make a device that would show especially harmful magic differently.” He subtly double-checked that they were alone, then he rolled up his sleeve to expose the Dark Mark. He generally kept it hidden in magical circles. “Focus here for a moment and you’ll see.” 

She stared at him wide-eyed and clearly thinking at the speed of a  _ Firebolt _ . Then she adjusted her focus and turned the crystal this way and that. There was a sharp intake of breath and she paled. 

“Gods, Draco,” he stiffened. In his eagerness to sate her curiosity he had briefly forgotten how disconcerting it was to see the kind of darkness etched into his skin. He froze unsure how to proceed. She studied his arm through the crystal for a long time, then she did the last thing he expected. She reached toward it grazing her fingers around the edges then over the hidden scars that raised subtly against his skin. She tracked something up his arm and to his chest where she paused for a long moment violet light refracting on her face. 

“I… I should have thought to show you something less…” he avoided the word  _ gruesome _ though it would be apt, “intense.” 

“No, this was very revealing.” She blinked, as if shaking herself from a trance, and then ran the Sunstone down his arm again. “There are strands coming from the Mark. They look as though they were cut and floating free -- all but one.” He smiled to himself,  _ thrice damn _ she was clever. 

“The threads show the magical connections to the spell you are focused on,” he flexed his forearm trying to relieve some of the tension he felt there. “It’s attuned to frequencies of a sort. If you have the spell in focus, you can track its power back to a source.” She flattened her lips together reasoning through the presented information. “Everyone who helped cast this spell is dead, except…” he paused allowing her to draw the conclusion he could quite bring himself to say.

“Except you,” she murmured. He nodded. She drew her wand. “I can see it. I think I could sever you from this,” He caught her hand. 

“It’s connected to my magical core, Hermione.” He watched the understanding break across her face. “It would kill me if the tether was broken.” 

“That’s what it’s wrapped around, that black cord is around your core?” She placed her fisted palm still holding her wand at his center. “It’s beautiful.” 

“You keep using that word in reference to me after seeing  _ this _ and I’m going to send you St. Mungo’s specialty ward,” he quipped. “No offense to St. Meridius but we have a better history with mental maladies.” 

“I stand by my statement,” he flushed and backed away from her scrutiny. “And the red lines?” 

He turned away from her, unwilling to answer. “You get the general idea of how the Sunstones work. If there’s a curse, we will see something dark, like that. With luck, we can see the tether and break it. With no magic to feed it, the curse will die.”

“Draco,” she began. 

“No,” he leaned on the window, hands braced. “We are here to do a job. I think I’ve bared my soul enough for this week.” 

The silence was thick. Finally, she muttered something that could have been “I’m sorry.”

“Your friend will likely be more comfortable if you do this.” He pulled his defenses up like iron walls and he hated himself for it. He jerked his sleeve back into place. But then he misjudged his next move. Turned and looked at her. 

Her mask was brittle and pinched, forced into place.  _ To the depths, why can’t I just keep my temper? _

“I’ll stay if you want me to,” he tried to gentle his voice. She nodded but kept her stiff stance. 

*********************************

Hermione clutched the Sunstone in her hand, trying to marshall her anger and hurt. Why did he need to be so mercurial?  _ Because he’s still DRACO fecking MALFOY _ . Screamed a voice inside her that sounded disturbingly like one Ronald Weasley. 

She shook herself physically, trying to rid herself of the image she had seen on his arm. The rotten black mass had seethed with predatory hunger. Bisecting the mass at apparently random points were angry red lines. Black strings floated free, save one which ran up his arm and twisted around a small galaxy of purple and blue. From another direction, a searing white strand opposed the black. She hadn't had time to suss everything out yet, but something more was going on there. 

Before she could puzzle anymore, Gerry came around the corner. Weary eyes caught hers and searched. Her blond hair, usually impeccably styled, lay limply around her care-worn face. She reached for her friend’s hand and nodded. “Let’s go see if there is anything to this theory.” 

Gerry’s eyes flitted to Draco. “So, this is him?” She asked with the barest hint of curiosity. 

“My name is Draco, I’m a cursebreaker and former classmate of Hermione’s,” he held out his hand cordially. The tall witch took it and held it. 

“I know who you are,” she pulled him by his arm toward her. “Please don’t think me rude, but I must ask that you do everything in your power to help my children.” Her nails bit visibly into the flesh of his hand. He didn’t even flinch. 

“I swear on my life,” she nodded, never blinking. 

“Better your life than your honor Draco Lucius Malfoy,” she released his hand leaving small bloody welts. 

He frowned and Hermione narrowed her eyes. They shared an infinitesimally small look. If Hermione had any say, there were definitely some things Geraldine Watts would be explaining after this business was done. 

The bone-weary witch turned and guided them into the room with her children. Brantley and Asha looked much the same as yesterday to Hermione. They were under a Dreamless Sleep potion with several spells monitoring breathing and heartbeat. They looked unhealthy but their vital signs were holding steady. She noticed Draco’s eyes darting from the small boy to the girl and back with profound concentration. If she didn’t know him well, she would have missed the tightness around his mouth and the slight raise of his chin. He obviously had an idea that he had no intention of sharing in this venue. Oddly, Gerry seemed to notice something as well. 

“Something to say  _ Cursebreaker _ ,” she emphasized the title like an insult. Draco backed away from the beds and shifted uncomfortably. “My children don’t measure up to your pure-blood standards, I’m sure. Yes, you prefer to pretend children like mine don’t exist. Send them off, give them funny little names --  _ squibs, mundies _ \-- how delightfully dismissable.” She stepped in front of him under the guise of adjusting Asha’s blankets. “Can’t sully the family tree now, can we?” 

Hermione reeled sputtering her outrage. “Draco is here to help of his own volition.” Hermione had never thought of squibs as a derogatory term, but she quickly saw the error of her ways. However, Draco had known about Gerry’s children, so that couldn’t have been what he saw. Before she could say as much, he gently touched her arm. 

“It’s alright. You know how to use the Sunstone.” He nudged her gently and spoke softly, “Go on and have a look. I’ll provide a little light.” With that, he pulled his wand from his sleeve and cast  _ Lumos Perpetuum  _ with a whisper. A small bright ball of sunlight lifted into the air floating at a convenient angle for the application of the Sunstone. 

She turned to her friend who still stood between her children’s beds. She looked at Hermione nervously. 

“I’m going to look at the children through this,” she held up the Sunstone. “It will let me see spells put on them. If there is anything there, we may be able to trace it.” 

The blonde witch stared for a long moment, then spoke. “I have protective spells on them. I know it’s illegal. I would appreciate your discretion.” 

“That’s not a problem,” she said. With a nod from Gerry, she lifted the stone toward Asha and focused its beam. Gentle protective magic covered the girl like armor. Hermione had no doubt the child would be immune to physical and magical blows that would send the unprotected to the emergency department. She also found a pale blush of magic, Despite what Gerry thought, her daughter had  _ some _ magic even if it was slight. She continued moving the beam up and down the little girl's body until she found a thin black string waving in the wind. The tether was obviously broken, but Hermione trailed it back to its source. There was a back spot blossoming on Asha’s hand. 

“Draco, I think you might need to take a look. This is your area of expertise,” she said squinting at the spot. 

He waited for assent from Gerry, which she gave after an extended moment with a stiff tilt of her head. The wizard did not take the crystal from Hermione but bent to look over her shoulder. 

After a moment he hissed through his teeth and murmured, “ _ Eiður brotinn _ . I know this spell. It’s an old curse once used to punish those who broke faith with a leader or a promise to a loved one. It was part of marriage vows in some very old rituals. Even made it into some legends in the mundane world because it’s one of the few that can be passed to non-magical beings. It was very popular among seafarers for a time.”

Hermione blinked, realization breaking, “You are talking about the Black Spot?” 

He shrugged, “I don’t know what they called it. It’s called the Traitor’s Mark in old texts. Directly translated it is ‘broken oath’.” 

“How does it work?” Hermione was running through scenarios. It seemed an easy enough curse to break, but where had she picked it up? How had it spread to others? 

“It’s a fairly nasty one that targets those around the witch or wizard rather than the person themselves. If everyone around you died agonizing deaths with no apparent reason, people might think you are cursed -- which of course you are. This curse, though, has been altered to affect only the non-magical. That wasn’t uncommon in the 17th century to be fair. Many mages traveled with non-magical vassals or crew members.” She could hear the frown in his voice. “It isolated them, brought them back to the magical world.  _ Eliminated _ anyone who might know too much. All while not  _ wasting _ magical beings.” Hermione curled her lip at his words. 

“Can you… can you break it, Mr. Malfoy?” Hermione raised one eyebrow at her friend’s sudden change of attitude. 

“What, Hermione, if he can save my children I will call him by whatever title he wants. I will shine his majesty’s pretty shoes if he likes.” She looked at them both expectantly. 

“She noticed my shoes,” Draco grinned. Though Hermione couldn’t see it, she heard the lilt in his voice. “See, someone has good taste.” How could he flirt with her right now? Maddening. He raised his voice so the other witch could hear. “Your daughter has already broken the curse. She is currently working her way through the dark magic. I can help with that. Keep the Spot in focus, Lioness.” She did as he asked. She heard the rustle of fabric and saw him bring his wand up. He began prodding the ends of the torn tether, slowly working the frayed edges toward his arm which was now bare and outstretched. Carefully he wound the threads of one of his own broken tethers from the Dark Mark to the girl’s broken strand. 

“Ms. Watt, I like my shoes shined every Tuesday,” he said through his concentration, “and I eschewed with titles years ago.” 

He began siphoning the darkness of the spell into himself. Hermione hissed at him, “Don’t do that.” He rolled his eyes. 

“I can handle it. She has already dealt with most of it,” she watched with concern, but the mark seemed to contain the siphoned magic without affect. “I’ll rid myself of it later. I have a few things that need to be destroyed that need a bit of dark magic.” He added for her ears only, “ _ We may be able to track the origin with this.”  _ With a deft  _ diffindo,  _ Draco severed the tether and spot was gone. 

Color returned to the Asha’s checks and her breathing evened. She was still under the sleeping draught, but she stirred and sighed. Gerry choked off a sob and grabbed her daughter’s hand, squeezing. 

Hermione quietly turned to Brantley, silently willing the news to be good. As the Sunstone's focused light hit the boy's right hand, Hermione allowed a momentary flood of relief. Nothing marred his innocent skin. No spot, no tether, not a thread of darkness touched him -- until she moved the crystal to examine the child's torso. This mother's protective spells were cracked and blackened. Thick ropes of undulating tethers protruded from his chest, neck, and stomach. Each of the tethers was pulsing an angry red-gold light. The ugly mess braided itself together before cutting a path down the boy's left arm to an oozing dark spot embedded in the boy’s skin. 

She denied the impulse to draw away or cry out, but Draco must have heard her quiet distress. He was by her side in seconds, watching her scan the damage again. He stole a discrete look at Gerry who was still clutching her daughter’s hand. “We need to get her out of here. I can pull this off of him, but no mother should have to see that happen to her child. Worse, if she interferes things could go wrong very quickly for everyone involved.” 

She looked up at the wizard and handed him the Sunstone. “I’ll get her out,” she touched his arm lightly. “Do  _ nothing _ until I get back. You may need back up.” 

Gerry wouldn’t leave her children here without an explanation and any explanation would preclude her leaving. Quietly whispering an apology to her friend she flicked her wand and muttered  _ confundus _ . Gerry’s eyes glazed over and she stared up a Hermione with a bewildered expression. “Gerry, why don’t you go find Asha’s favorite hot chocolate. She may want some when she wakes. Then you can get the healers and inform them of the new developments.” Worry lines appeared on the witch’s forehead but after a moment she nodded and left. 

“She won’t be happy with you when she comes out of that,” Draco said as he handed her the Sunstone and wordlessly adjusted her angle so he could begin working. 

“She will forgive us both if we can show her two healthy children,” she wordlessly levitated the privacy curtain between the children’s bed into place. “Now, what is happening to him. Why is his so much worse?” 

“He doesn’t have a magical core. His body can’t fight back,” her eyes re-examined Brantley and found no swirling galaxy of light. Instead a steady, thrumming golden light illuminated him softly. “Those tethers are pulling his life energy from him by inches. They are using him as a battery to power something else. We need to act now, or he will never recover.”

“What do we do, Draco?” There was a steely resolve in her voice that she hadn’t needed in years. She was relieved it was still there.

He was locked in concentration over the boy’s small frame. “We have a few choices, Granger. None of them are good. We could go and get the healers, call my colleagues, set up a task force and deal with this the formal way, but…” 

“But bureaucracy is slow, and Brantley is running out of time,” she shook her head. “Next idea.” 

“We could try to trace the curse to its source and sever its power from there,” he motioned to the rope that disappeared through the wall.

“No guarantee that would be any faster, nor that it would work. What if the rebound kills him like your curse could kill you,” she shook her head. “Too many variables. Too risky. Next option.” 

“Then I take the curse from him, as I took it from the girl,” Hermione looked up at him scrutinizing. 

“What are you not saying,” she watched him clench his jaw. 

“This curse isn’t broken. If we break it for him from this end there will be rebound. He is completely defenseless against that kind of magic. At the very least it would weaken him for life. It might kill him outright.” 

“Merlin, could you transfer the curse to me? My magical core is strong. I can break that curse.” He looked at her, then, his expression admiring. 

“Noble, Little Lioness, but unless you’ve got a cursed Mark somewhere I haven’t seen,” he smirked, knowing he had seen everything, “it won’t work.” He shook his head. “I’m going to take it for him. I’ll need to transfer one of the tethers intact and then break the other two at once. I want whoever cast this to believe the curse continues.” 

“It will take energy from you, but… but we could use this as a homing beacon, right?” 

“Brilliant, as usual,” he grimaced as he reached out toward the first tether with his magic. “This magic tends to react violently toward forcible removal, so I need you ready with a shield.” She nodded suspended the crystal, rooted her feet, and readied her wand. 

Draco focused on the tether just above Brantley’s heart.  _ Relashio _ he said firmly and the tether frayed sending a halo of green and black. 

Faster than thought, Hermione sent up a shield and held it while Draco coaxed the threads into place. 

“Now,” he said and she dropped her protection and the tether lashed out. Instead of tying itself to one of Draco’s loose ends, it buried itself deep into the flesh of his forearm. Draco cried out and swore, staggering slightly. 

She steadied him, “Nyx, that did not go as planned.” 

“Let’s finish this,” she said through gritted teeth. “I’ll take high; you take low.” He complied without question aiming his wand at the rope through the boy’s abdomen. She took up a position at the neck. “We break together then step behind me and I’ll shield us.” 

“No, shield the boy and yourself. The backlash with turn on him, too, once we sever him from the spell,” she could tell the wizard was in pain. Mid-battle was not the time to question a call. 

They locked eyes and for a moment, they were breathing as one, acting as one being.  _ Relashio  _ was a chorus, shields locked in a wall of protection. The darkness whipped out, bashing magic against magic. The blackness turned back, dissipating. She watched Brantley draw a full breath and his cheeks color. 

Then Draco Malfoy collapsed next to her, retching with blood pouring from his nose. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You all are the best! Please leave a comment or a kudo if you can!


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco convalesces while Hermione discovers a few things about him and does some much-needed thinking.

Pain radiated through Draco’s body. As he released the magic, the bright orb of light vanished along with the protective blue glow of his shield. He was vaguely aware of falling to his knees, gasping and retching. He spat something black and crimson before his vision went white around the edges. 

His Lioness was suddenly in front of him, saying words that he could not decipher. She always had so much to say. It was endearing and maddening. His hand rose to her face to stroke her cheek in comfort. Something was upsetting her greatly. He hated to see the pain in her exquisite eyes, but he could think of nothing to comfort her. Breathing was an excruciating chore at the moment. Red blossomed across her cheek trailing a crimson path from his hand. He thought for a moment how well the color suited her. 

Reality snapped back into focus viciously, clearing the dust from his thoughts. It was blood--his blood--on her face. She was desperately commanding him to breathe. He obeyed. 

“Nyx, that rebound was more than I expected,” he coughed and spat blood again. 

“Are you with me, Draco?” Worry nested in her voice. 

_ To the ends of the Earth and back _ , he thought as he nodded to her. She flushed and looked away. 

“Hermione, I need you to take me to my apartment if you can manage.” She gave him a stern look. 

“Draco, you need a healer,” she moved to help him up.

“ _ Granger _ , we have been performing unauthorized magic on two children and  _ I,  _ a former Death Eater, am absolutely dripping with dark magic.” He staggered up, allowing himself to lean on her small frame. “We chose option ‘fix-it-ourselves’ which means we need to stay the course, which means we need to follow this lead,” he raised his arm. “And that means  _ no healers _ .” He took a moment to breathe. 

“But…we could explain,” he fumbled with a handkerchief and tried to wipe the blood from her face. She brushed his hand away, took the cloth, and pressed it to his nose. 

“By the time we explained everything and offered proof,” he felt woozy and paused, “I would need to break the tether. It’s already behaving erratically. I want to track down the source before I need to sever the connection. If we can find the source in the next day or two, we could cut off the magic, rendering it null for everyone affected.” 

“No, Draco, you need to break this now,” she pulled the cloth from his nose. It was soaked and crimson. “This is serious.” 

“Hermione, it’s a nosebleed,” he tried to be flippant. 

“You need my help to get home from ‘just a nosebleed’?” She speared him with a glare. 

“Fine. The intensity of the backlash surprised me. This curse is powerful.” He curled his arm farther around her waist. “Which is why we need to find the source and stop it.” She pressed her lips together in frustration. “Please, Hermione. Just get me home, I have a few potions that will help. Besides, we might want to be gone when Ms. Watt returns.”

“Alright, alright. I’ll need the Floo address,” she started toward the door. 

“I thought you’d never ask,” he teased. She rolled her eyes but smiled ever-so-slightly. “785 Astor Place.” 

**************************************

Hermione stepped through the fireplace into a spacious bedroom with Draco in tow. His space could best be described as anarchic. Music and books lay about the room with scribbled notes and post-its adorning their pages. The bed was unmade and quills mixed with pins were strewn across the side table which, consequently, was stained with ink. 

“Draco Malfoy is a bloody slob!” She looked up at him and the laugh perished on her lips. In the natural light through the large windows, she could see him more clearly. He was pallid while his mouth and nose were stained red. 

“Yes, Granger, this is certainly the way I wanted you to see my bedroom for the first time,” he collapsed onto the bed, looking up to her balefully. “Blood-Replenishing potion.” 

“Where?” 

“Bookcase. Pull the first year potions book, then  _ alohamora _ ,” he began to shift out of his robes and the witch saw the bright red dots on his white button-down undershirt.  _ How much had he bled?  _ At least it had stopped now. 

She found  _ Magical Drafts and Potions _ and pulled it. A doorknob appeared on her right, which turned with quick  _ alohamora _ . In contrast with the chaos of his bedroom. Draco’s makeshift lab was immaculate. Ingredients were organized and neatly labeled in his elaborate handwriting. It was properly vented with safety precautions like drainage. He had an impressive stockpile of several essentials, including the Blood-Replenishing potion. She grabbed one and a Dreamless Sleep vial. 

As she turned to leave, she spied a glass case in the corner which housed several items that seemed to twitch and shiver. Wards covered the exterior of the case, along with a label for each item and a list titled  _ For destruction, needed _ . Each also had an  _ authorized by  _ designation. Most were labeled  _ Jeremy Pruitt _ , but Hermione spotted two items -- a silver chain and a goblet fashioned from black and white marble -- labeled  _ Albus Dumbledore. _ The wizard must certainly know what he is doing to earn the trust of the old Headmaster in regard to such things. 

When she returned to the bedroom, Draco had managed to strip the bloody shirt and don a green t-shirt. His face was clean of blood as well, but still too pale. Hermione placed her hand under his chin and pushed upward so she could examine his nose. He complied without a word. There was no new blood. His grey eyes caught her for a moment, still slightly dazed.  _ “To the ends of the Earth _ ,” he had said in the hospital. She was certain he didn’t know he had said it or at least had not meant it. Yet, his eyes followed her like a beacon. 

Pushing the thought away, she uncorked the Blood-Replenishing Potion and presented it to him. “I’m not sure about the dosage,” she said. He shrugged and downed the bottle. 

“A body won’t overproduce blood,” he said. “It will burn off the excess potion with body heat.” 

She nodded and pressed the Dreamless Sleep into his palm. He frowned and shook his head. 

“You need to sleep. Good, deep sleep Draco,” she gave him a gentle teasing grin. “I’ve slept in the same bed with you enough to know that isn’t something you often get.” 

“We have limited time, Lioness,” he turned her hand over closing her fingers around the small blue vial. 

“A half dose, then,” she uncorked the bottle. “6 hours of sleep.” 

“It weakens my defenses, dulls my senses. Being out of control is not something I handle well,” he looked down at the bottle. “What if whoever cast this ascertains what we’ve done tracks us here? This is practically a homing beacon.” He held up his arm. 

“Do you think that’s probable?” He shook his head.

“No, the magic is spreading thinner the more people are pulled into its influence. I think the boy was the center point, or very close. Whoever cast it won’t be able to sense the difference for a day or two.” She nodded. 

“That’s what I surmised as well from the evidence we have.” She held the vial to his lips. “I’ll be here. I will protect you,” she glanced up at the door out of the bedroom, “and Tristan, too, if such a thing is needed. I'll wake you if I need to do so.” 

He studied her intently for a few moments. “Quarter dose. Three hours.” 

She nodded her agreement and tilted the vial. To her relief, he drank two swallows before turning his head. The potion worked quickly, but it was not instantaneously effective. The tall wizard drooped like a deflating balloon. His eyes lost focus.

"Worry, worry, my Lioness," he reached up and stroked her cheek again. "How I love to watch you think." 

She flushed. His words were slurred but earnest. His eyelids slid closed and he lowered himself to the bed. Hermione gathered the soft duvet around him and watched his face. She had never seen him fall asleep. In their shared time, she had slipped consciousness first usually as he played with her hair, or ran his quick fingers down her back soothingly. She saw now that he fought sleep like a toddler -- mumbling and frowning. Shifting and straining to reopen his eyes. She ran her hand gently over his face, willing his care-lines to disappear. Her heart fluttered - incandescent. She tried to squash it down, but it was a slippery thing. 

“No, darling,” he sighed barely audible. “If you do that I’m lost.” He reached toward her and pulled her to his chest, never opening his eyes. “Lost, lost, lost,” he was smiling as he nuzzled into her neck. 

She was fairly certain he wasn’t making sense. He had  _ never _ called her ‘darling’. Never-the-less she allowed herself to be held and comforted by his presence. He hummed an aimless little melody as he drifted into sleep. She lay there running her hands through his impossibly soft hair and wrestling with the events of the morning. The day had not yet passed its midpoint, and they had already unraveled a piece of the riddle, rescued two children, and managed to put Draco in a life-threatening position. It compared to her Hogwarts days. 

He had stepped in so readily to spare people he didn’t know. He had acted against his own best interest and possibly risked his health and freedom to stop children’s suffering. She wanted to personally flay everyone who had ever written his name into an article and set coals to society gossips. He was a better man than most, and he repeatedly proved that theory. Even when he was temperamental, he always came through. Her childhood memories of the elitist, spoilt princeling warred with the man who treated her with respect and reasoned through problems with her and cared deeply for his muggle friends and put himself at risk for others. The man who held her in his arms so reverently and sang poetry was hard to reconcile with the bully of Hogwarts. 

His arms went lax around her as he surrendered to the Dreamless Sleep fully. She pushed herself off the bed and covered him with his duvet. Hermione felt at home in Draco’s mildly chaotic living space. Her world was generally two steps away from unfettered disarray, so she didn’t mind the clutter. Pieces of his daily life floated about like colorful leaves. A half-drunk cup of tea rested on a small table with a potion recipe, notes dashed in the margins with careful alterations. A scarf lay discarded on the window ceil which had a comfortable built-in reading nook. Several books were stacked on the floor with wild arrays of subjects and titles. She could tell he liked to sample subjects rather than the exhaustive deep dives in which she often indulged. Three guitar cases were lined up along the far wall with binders full of sheet music. A chair and a music stand sat at the other window with a handwritten page entitle  _ Circe Sweet _ . 

“Coe?” Tristan’s voice at the door startled Hermione. “You there?” She strode to the door, deftly avoiding a few books along the way.

“Tristan!” Hermione greeted the man with a smile flinging open the door. The young man turned pink to the tips of his ears.

“Oh, uh, Hermione,” he stepped back and gave an awkward smile, looking anywhere but at her. “I’m so sorry I didn’t mean to… I didn’t know that….Draco doesn’t usually,” he cut himself off. “I’ll let you get back to…” he vaguely gestured.

She looked at the young man with pity and laughed. “Draco isn’t feeling well, I brought him back home to rest. Nothing untoward going on at the moment.” 

He eyed her for a moment, “Uh-huh,” he glanced into the room for a moment then back at her. “Can I speak with you for a minute?” 

She tilted her head in question but followed the boy with the gentle spirit down the hall, closing Draco’s door behind her. They arrived at a modest but well-appointed kitchen, and Tristan offered her coffee. She accepted and they sat in silence for a few moments. 

“Can I ask you a frank and impolite question?” he finally said. She nodded. 

“What are you doing here? I don’t mean to be rude, but Draco told us -- me and Iris -- that you wanted to keep things casual. I rather thought that would be the end of it, as  _ he _ doesn’t do casual.” The dark-haired boy spoke quickly with the blunt edge of truth. “That man is a serial monogamist, God love him. Sure he went through a spree right after he moved, but a blind man could see he was going through something.” She opened her mouth to reply but he talked over her protestation. “But then he’s been more or less with you for the past two weeks and he’s happy and he’s writing and he’s a bit cagey about your past but basically gets his version of googly heart-eyes when he’s around you.”

“He does not! Draco Malfoy has never made ‘googly heart-eyes’ at anyone,” she humphed. “Least of all me. I don’t fit his standards.” 

“Don’t fit his standards?” He laughed, “You are his standard. You are the bar to which he holds all other women. I knew your name before I met you. So did Iris. Because he’s subconsciously compared every girl to you for  _ years _ .” 

Hermione tried to find words in the minuscule gap of silence he left. "But…"

"I don't think I understood until I met you, but that's definitely what he's been doing," he sighed. "Not that we ever pushed the subject, but we wanted to see him happy. He dated a few women for several months but in the end, he always broke it off. We asked why and it was 'she was lovely but there wasn’t enough  _ there’ _ . Then that Theodore guy came to visit a couple of years ago. All he had to do was say your name and Draco went on a ten-minute tear about how impossible you were, how insufferable and amazing and maddeningly brilliant you were.” He fidgeted with his cup, “It didn’t take a genius to work it out. Especially after I saw you together. Because there is most certainly enough  _ there _ .” 

Hermione shifted uncomfortably. She liked Tristan but she did  _ not _ want to discuss this with him. She knew she needed to decide soon what this all meant. She had already let him break all of her careful rules. He was already far closer than she wanted a lover to be. This new information was enormously unhelpful. She wasn’t happy about an ideal version of herself she needed to live up to, but she didn’t have to decide today. She found a distraction in the two travel bags by the door. 

“Going somewhere?” She asked. Tristan looked confused for a moment and then regained his footing. 

“Oh, yes. I’m going home this week,” he moved off the chair and washed his empty cup in the sink. “It’s my very last fall break before responsibility strikes, so I’m planning to utterly waste with my family on Long Island.” He smiled, clearly happy to be going. “I was just coming to tell Draco goodbye. 

“Sounds lovely,” she grinned. 

“It will be,” a shadow returned to his face. “Listen, I know we don’t know each other well, but I care a great deal about Draco. I don’t want to see him hurt. I know he’s an adult who can take care of himself, just… be careful with him, alright? I get the impression people have not been careful with him in the past.” 

She held his eyes for a few moments and nodded agreement. 

After Tristan left, Hermione sat in the kitchen and thought for a long while. She reached into her pocket and closed around the Sunstone. She didn’t have answers to many of the problems plaguing them, but she could help with one thing. She was going to drain some of that dark magic from him, and she knew exactly how. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays to all! Thank you for reading! Special thank you to those that have taken the time to comment (lookin at you, Luna and Elle). You make my little heart happy. As always, please kudos or comment if you have the time. I will try to have the next chapter this weekend. 
> 
> Much love, 
> 
> Treachery


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco wakes up and deals with Hermione's cleverness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own none of the characters herein, only the ideas. The terrible, terrible ideas.
> 
> This one is a little short and exclusively from Draco's POV, but I promise more soon.

Draco rose slowly from the depths of sleep. Someone close to him was contented. He could feel it washing him like a tide - contentment with a dash of pride. A woman’s voice hummed through the haze. Memory surged into him and forced his eyes to open. 

She was sitting on his window ceil reading one of the strewn texts around his room. Her robes were discarded on the back of a desk chair, and she wore simple blue jeans with a scooped neck white shirt. She absently twirled a quill in her right hand which had stained her fingers dark blue. She was enthralled in the book, transported and radiant. He gave up another piece of his heart to her that moment. He admitted to himself she owned more of it than he did at this point, even if she stubbornly refused to acknowledge it.

Her eyes darted to him and she flushed. “Draco,” she glanced at her watch, “ten minutes early.” She smiled and shook her head. “How do you feel?” 

“Fine,” he said sitting up. He paused as an unexpected shot of energy coursed through him. “Great actually.” She averted her eyes and her smile grew. 

“Good. Nothing like a good rest,” she unfolded from the window and stretched. “Shall I make some tea?” 

"What did you do?" He had dealt with dark magic enough to anticipate the repercussions. He should feel drained. He should feel like his life faded into colorlessness, save for the soft deepness of the magic that called to him like a faithless lover -- full of glittering lies and velvet-soft nooses. However, right now Draco felt refreshed, energized, and as if pulling Hermione into bed for a thorough shag was an excellent idea. That last probably indicated he was alive, but not much more. 

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” she clenched her jaw and smiled tightly as she moved toward the kitchen. 

He rose and caught her arm gently, “You are a terrible liar, Lioness.” He circled his left arm around her pulling her close. Nestling his nose behind her ear, he drew in her smell, her warmth, her touch. She melted back into his touch molding herself into his body as if she belonged there. “Just tell me, da---,” he choked on the affectionate title, “Hermione, you know I will find out and we have far too much to do.” 

“Alright,” she squeezed his hand, “but promise you’ll listen to the whole story.” He nodded and loosened his arm reluctantly. She didn’t move away and little sparks of joy flipped through his system. 

“You took on a great deal of dark magic today. I was worried about the side effects of containing such a sudden large influx of magic meant to damage, and well,” she turned in the circle of his arms, looking up at him with a mix of defiance and trepidation. “I was watching when you used the tethers to drain the Traitor’s Mark. They work rather like a pipeline or a channel and if they can work one way…” Panic slipped through his veins. 

“Hermione,” he tried to keep his voice reasonable, but even to his ears, the lilt of tension rang. 

“Let me finish. I’ve been developing a variation on a bubble charm for a few weeks. As you know defensive magic is both a talent and special interest for me. I theorized that magical energy could be contained and suspended within it. I’ve never been able to cast it fast enough to have practical defensive battlefield use, but I’ve stored magic inside them.” She gently passed her hand over his Dark Mark. He closed his eyes, rejecting her smooth strong hand in the same space as that noxious power. “So I decided to trial an idea,” she reached into her pocket and removed the Sunstone. “_ Accio Orbis Fermentum Unis _” 

A crystalline orb flew from the small reading nook to her outstretched hand. It looked empty and innocuous to the naked eye. “I reversed the flow into one of my orbs and sealed it when the orb could hold no more.” She held the Sunstone out to him and he took it. The ball was about the size of an apple and through the stone, he saw tumultuous darkness. “I took seven orbs from you before I thought it prudent to stop.” Then he saw the snake and skull that had marked his arm his entire adult life. The ink still seethed with aggressive blackness, but the heavy rotten mass was a speck now. The new curse still rooted itself to his flesh in an angry red anchor slowly gathering darkness and pulling energy. Despite that, Draco had not felt this unburdened since he was a foolish teenager. 

“You shouldn’t try to manipulate dark magic like this. If anything goes wrong the consequences could be catastrophic.” He fisted the Sunstone. “The Black will build in the Dark Mark again anyway.”

She bared her teeth in a defiant smile. “Then, I will drain it again. That logic is self-defeating, Draco. Should we not bathe because we will inevitably become dirty again?” 

“It’s not the same thing. Stop making false comparisons,” he grabbed her right hand with his left and focused the Sunstone. Tips of her fingers looked as if they had been dipped in dark ink. Delicate traces of purplish-black were evident in the dips and whirls of her fingerprints, the pattern of her skin seeped as far as her palm. “Look. Look what I’ve done to you.” 

The fire sparked in her eyes and tiny electrical sparks jolted his fingers as she wrenched her hand from his. “_ You _ didn’t do this. Some thrice-damned witch or wizard with a god-complex did this. You don’t get to decide what is an appropriate sacrifice _ on my behalf _.” She huffed, tossing her hand into the air. “This little stain will fade or we will find a way to cleanse it.” 

She kept using ‘_we_’, and every time she did some little piece of his interworkings sparked madly. _Is this what unrepressed happiness feels like? It’s been so long, I’m not sure anymore. It’s certainly no wonder that people occasionally behave erratically. _He clasped her hand in his and brought it to his chest. “I don’t want to be the reason you take in corruption. I don’t want to be the reason you are hurting, Hermione.” 

“Well, you don’t get to make that decision,” she said, tilting her chin up and looking at him, “at least not by yourself.” 

“I don’t think that drugging me and doing whatever you wanted qualifies as giving me input,” but he tightened one arm around her waist while he squeezed her hand. His eyes prickled slightly and his heart rate picked up.

“Draco,” she raised her hand to his lips. “Why did you do it?” 

“What?” Her fingers tracing his lips was incredibly distracting. 

“Why did you take the curse like that?” Her fingers moved to his jaw, then to his neck, resting over his wildly beating pulse. 

“We decided that was the best course of action together, Lioness,” he flexed his hand on her hip. “You need to stop touching me like that if we are going to run this trace today.”

“I’m flexible with the timeline,” she grinned wickedly. “But no, you more or less took over. You gave me choices, but I didn’t know what it would mean for _ you _.” 

“The need was urgent,” he didn’t know why she was asking. “Magic like that…” he shook his head, “it wants to cause pain. I couldn’t let it hurt those children when I could stop it. You are much more reasonable when you are on my side, so I gave you the pertinent information and you agreed with my train of thought.” 

She pushed him back breaking his embrace. “You did _ not _ give me _ all _ the pertinent information! I didn’t know it would hurt you. I didn’t know you would have to carry it.” 

“I find ways to lessen the load and purge what I can,” he huffed and paced to the window. “Regardless, it’s not your decision. You don’t get to decide what is an appropriate sacrifice _ on my behalf _.” He used her own words against her. Keeping his back to her he, glared spitefully at the window panes. 

She crossed her arms, lips turned downward. “I...I would have done the same because it was the right thing to do.” She let out a little grunt of frustration as he watched her in the reflective glass, “I just…” she gave a pitiful sound that knocked the wind from the wizard’s sails, “I just care for you.” She leaned her head against his back. “It frightened me. I… didn’t like to see you hurt either.” 

_ Damn it. What is the use of having walls if she always walks right through them? _He turned and wrapped her into his body. “I won’t apologize for what I did. I’m still not happy you drained the dark magic. But,” he cradled her blushing face and met her blazing eyes, “I care for you more than is prudent to tell you.” He kissed her nose -- her eyes. 

She lunged at his mouth all but climbing into his arms. Draco was certain that if she let him go now, he would simply float away on the power of his elation. 

“We need to talk about what this means,” she said softly. “But let’s get this curse solved first.” 

“Yes,” he nodded, “okay.” _ Then I’m going to show exactly what I mean _. He thought

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading. Please, please leave me a comment or a Kudo if you can! They give me LIFE!


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione and Draco go a-hunting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing. All mistakes are my own. You are all amazing for reading.

Hermione resisted the urge to tap her foot on the sidewalk. Draco was muttering inventive swears and snarling at his tattoo. Eventually, she sighed and settled herself onto a bench. The weather had turned and she could feel the inescapable fingers of winter immersing the city in the perpetual icy wind tunnel that was New York from late October to March. At least it had held off until nearly Halloween this year. The afternoon sun did little to warm her but lit Washington Square Park in hazy beauty. The white Roman-style arch shone white against the dark stone of a circular public space surrounded by the oranges and yellows of the last Fall color.

“This might go faster if you’d let me help,” she said in a sing-song voice. The wizard glared at her. He cut a fine figure in a long navy wool coat and dark jeans, even if it was slightly marred by the aforementioned glare. 

“You’ve meddled with the darker side of things quite enough for one day don’t you think, Granger?” He had his sleeve pushed up exposing the Dark Mark. 

“No,” she said with a roll of her eyes. “Not if that is what I need to do to help you figure out the link.”

He frowned but nodded motioning her over. “I know we are closer to the source than we were at the hospital,” he handed her the Sunstone, “But I can’t get the angle right to focus on the tether tracing back to the source. Typically I can just _ feel _ it, but someone saw fit to remove enough of the magic to make that impossible.” 

She hummed with a small smile, “If you are searching for an apology, you’ll be disappointed.” He canted his head downward with a single raised eyebrow. 

“You could at least put a little back so we could follow the tether more easily,” he said with a huff.

“Absolutely _ not _ ,” she firmly pulled his arm up and worked to focus the Sunstone. “Despite _ some _ theories, the _ easiest _way is not always the best way.” The tether nearest the cursed anchor that rooted itself into Draco’s skin didn’t float freely anymore. She focused more on that small grey string. 

“Nothing is easy with you, Lioness,” she knew the curve of his smile though she didn’t look to see it. “But it’s rarely boring.” 

A smile unfurled unbidden on her face. As if spurred, the barely visible line from the tether darkened and she could see it ran to the north and east. “We have a direction,” her voice was triumphant. 

“Excellent. We will stop every other block to check our heading. As we close in we will need to adjust,” she nodded flashing back to the war. He had been one of the few that stepped in and gave orders. Hermione was a natural field commander. As much as Ron was the overall strategist, he was shite at split-second, pressure-laden decisions. Harry was best at taking orders and solo missions. Although after the Headmaster’s demise and the revelations surrounding it, Harry had been less willing to follow but still unwilling to truly lead. Her missions with Draco, though, had felt like a collaborative effort. He accepted her leadership readily enough but didn’t wait for her to lead him by the nose. Today it seemed he was going to do the leading. She could be okay with that… within reason.

“Lead on, Captain,” he rolled his eyes with a half-smile and held out his arm to her. They walked together following the tether’s lead. 

“Nyx, never call me that again,” he shook his head with distaste. She grinned with mischief in mind. 

“_ Oh, Captain, my Captain _ ,” she batted her eyes looking up at him a farse of wide-eyed innocence. “ _ Rise up and hear the bells!” _

“You know that captain is dead, right?” He lengthened his stride slightly, forcing her to turn forward again. 

“Hmmm how about _ ‘I am the Master of my fate; I am the captain of my soul’ _? Is that a better context?” 

He scoffed, “Invictus?” He shook his head again, “That is a Lion’s poem if one was ever written.” He reached across with his opposite hand and stroked the back of her knuckles. “Since I was sixteen I have rarely felt I was master of anything. The Fates help anyone trying to captain my errant soul.” He smiled at her as he drew to a stop next to a large book store. “Care to check our direction?” 

She did so, nodding to the east. They continued to the north and the east for another ten minutes. As they neared Gramercy Park, Draco stopped asking for navigation. She assumed he could feel the pull more strongly now. He finally took a second lap around a block and pulled her to stop with a frown. 

“Here?” She asked swinging herself around so she could maintain eyes on the perimeter and he could look at the building behind her inconspicuously. 

He glanced downward, “Under here.” He closed his eyes and quested out with his magic. She felt the slight brush of it as it passed her. “This building is warded, so likely an entry point would be through here somewhere.” 

“Oh, delightful,” she quirked a small smile, “all the best things are built underground. Dungeons, evil scientists’ labs, Slytherin common rooms.” That got a smile. 

“Maybe I’ll take you there one day,” he said still scanning the building for entry. “Alumni have continued access.” 

“I can’t imagine what would interest me in a leaky old dungeon,” she subtly tilted her head to indicate the all-clear on the street and they moved smoothly into the small alleyway between two houses. Hermione flicked the Sunstone to Draco and positioned herself between him and the street. “Especially since _ you _ are no longer there,” she gave him her cheesiest smile. 

She meant to tease him, but his grey eyes darkened and color flushed his cheeks that had nothing to do with shyness. "I _ would _be there, Lioness,” he said with a wicked smile, “and there are far more than leaky dungeons to explore.” He flipped the Sunstone casually back to her and she snatched it from the air deftly. “Lower left corner of the basement window. What do you think?”

She peered through the slight fog of the crystal and immediately saw the slight weakness in the warding spell. She nodded. “Eureka.” She refocused the stone and cocked her head slightly, “a little tap here should do.” 

“My thoughts exactly. By all means, Lioness, do the honors,” she couldn’t resist her smile as a familiar sort of fixation took over. It was a heady mix of adrenaline and hypervigilance provided by that heavy release of norepinephrine to the brain. 

Hermione examined the black lines of the ward through the Sunstone once more, then examined the area without it. She pointed to a wet line down the brick above the window slowly dripping down to the ledge of the window. “The water’s wearing down the line. A lot of warding magic has a weakness for water. It looks as though the ward has failed before, and if we play our hand correctly, they may not know we are here until we are gone.” She held her wand up and with to fluid motions chanted _ aguamenti acribus _. Water shot from her wand in a powerful, concentrated stream. After a moment, both the magic and the window fractured into tiny shards. 

“Impressive as ever, Granger,” he tilted his ear and cut his eyes toward the street. “Incoming no-mag.” In seconds he turned himself so that his back was against the wall, his long coat covering the broken window while his arm caught Hermione and drew her into himself. Catching on she buried her nose against his neck planting a small nip on his pulse point. He drew in a breath and squeezed her waist. “Careful. Distracting your partner is no way to accomplish the mission.” A young mother pushed her pram down the street just outside the alleyway and her gaze lingered for a few moments on Draco’s upturned face with an appreciative raise of her eyebrow before moving on. 

“Are we clear?” she looked to the blonde wizard who nodded after a moment. “Ready to move in?” 

“Give me just a moment. Get that window unlatched if you can, but I’m going down first.” She nodded and set to her task. Once the window popped open, she looked at Draco. His face was a reflection of hers now, grim and determined. Whatever was on the other side of this wall was not going to appreciate the intrusion. There would be no room for teasing and no time for mistakes. They nodded in unison and Draco wordlessly slipped through the window. 

**************************************

Draco landed as lightly as he could on the dark wood of a basement floor. The house shifted as old houses do, but he heard nothing like living movement. The room was small and made for storage. After a brief check from traps or nasty objects, he signaled Hermione to come down. She did, and they turned to face the stairs that lead downward. She held her wand at the ready and cast _ lumos _ before he could stop her. 

_ Nox, _he muttered. “Let your eyes adjust. Lumos down here is a beacon, a target for anyone looking.” She nodded, accepting his judgment. It was exquisite to work with someone who trusted him. And she did trust him, at least in this. She had made that obvious with every move today. He tried to quell the rebellious hope in his belly that whispered she might trust him in other things. 

He tried not to think of the glory of her lips soft on his neck, her teeth nipping while the sun shone on his face. Not a secret, not a shame. She was intoxicating to him and she had no idea how much she could affect him with a single touch. He knew she left a mark, and he knew he would not allow it to be healed. 

He could feel her charged energy next to him like a storm. She was nervous but contained and deadly. He consciously relaxed the tension in his shoulders and wrist. There was no one he trusted at his side more than Hermione, aside from his mother perhaps. She met his eyes and nodded. He went first easing down the stairs questing out for magic. The tether was pulsing madly to the right. Hermione, however, was intently focused on something to the left. 

Pale milky eyes reflected minimal light from above. An emaciated torso hunched over dirty claws and its legs were misarticulated. Boney, antler-like appendages sprouted from its skeletal head which looked human except predatory teeth forever bared in a violent grin. The creature did not focus on them, but swayed gently and clicked its teeth together in an eerie, hungry snap. 

“Wendigo,” Hermione barely whispered. They both froze on the fourth step, touching. Draco had no idea what a Wendigo was, but it looked bad. 

Then the creature drew a breath, wind rattling around in its lungs. Its foggy eyes snapped to them and the snapping ceased, replaced by a terrible, tense silence. It smelled them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't hate me! :-) Please comment or kudos if you can. It really means a lot.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco and Hermione deal with the basement of horrors.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing. I edit things myself. Please don't post this elsewhere without my permission. It's not much but it's mine! 
> 
> I'm not totally satisfied with this chapter, but I had to split it in an odd place because it was just too long. The good news is the next chapter is mostly written.

Every nerve in Draco’s body sang in an urgent warning. The thing’s milky eyes didn’t track them, but it definitely knew they were there. It moved with a jerky halting gait to the base of the stair, vicious claws scrambling against the hardwood. The creature - the Wendigo - did not set foot on the stair itself though. Its skin rasped against itself creating a sound like crackling paper. Bone-white teeth framed the bloody gaping maw that strained toward them. 

“Back. Regroup,” he says softly to Hermione. 

The Wendigo screeched and Draco was hit with emotion like an endless well.  _ Want, jealousy, desperation, rage, rage, rage. _ It was a cold aching need in the center of his being, sucking warmth and good and life from him.  _ No _ . Not from  _ him _ from the creature. He pushed the  _ thing’s _ emotions back and shuddered. His feet moved backward, eyes never leaving the gory beast. Hermione put a steady hand on his shoulder blade.

“It won’t come up the stairs,” she whispered, keeping a white-knuckle grip on her wand.

She was right. The thing menaced and snarled but never moved past the lip of the first step. Indeed, the claw marks on the banister only extended as far as the shrieking horror could reach in its current position. 

“Hermione, I have an idea. It’s an absolutely mad idea,” he kept his eyes on the foe but felt her hand flexed on his back. 

“Those are usually the best kind when one is in a mad situation,” he could hear the strung-bow tension in her voice, but also the sharp-edged humor. 

“He can’t see us, or at least he can’t see much,” she hummed agreement. “I don’t think he can hear well. He didn’t come toward us until he could smell us.” 

“Agreed,” her breath tickled the fine hair on his neck, “and may I add  _ ick _ . So, how do we fool its nose?” 

“Well, this is the mad part,” he shifted his left arm out of his jacket. “The bubble charm, if it is not containing magic, how big can you make it?” He transferred his wand to his left hand and shook off his jacket entirely. 

“Yes! Oh, that’s perfect,” he smiled at her enthusiasm and levitated his jacket to float out beside him. “They won’t last more than a minute at that size though.” 

“We’ll use my coat to distract the Wendigo,” he made the coat wave its sleeve, “mask our scent with the bubbles --” 

“Mad and brilliant,” she gave him a fierce smile. 

“The source is to the right. It’s close. If we find it, we get out through the first available exit. Did you see --” 

“Yes, the anti-apparation line, but all it takes to break is an open window or door,” she waved her wand intently, “It’s only a surface charm, nothing like MACUSA or Hogwarts. The broken window up there should be enough.” 

“Removing the object will definitely alert the original caster,” he kept his wand trained on the beast. “We should take it somewhere secure to destroy it. Not sure how long it will take.” 

“My place or yours?” she laughed quietly. He could feel her hyper-focused tension, insulated by her gallows humor. 

“While I would never turn down a lady’s offer, I may have more appropriate equipment in my lab.” The creature loosed a hungry yowl, sending a spike of deep ache through Draco. “Did you feel that, Lioness?” 

“Yes. I think we should get this done quickly, “ Hermione said, “I don’t know what it’s doing, but whatever it is, it’s not good. Bubbles are almost ready.” 

“What should I know about the Wendigo? Short version,” he asked, watching the thing extend a shriveled tongue to lick at the air. 

“Old beast -- or spirit. The native people before colonialism had stories of them. Some of the early European inhabitants reported sightings. Scamander hypothesized in one of his essays they existed here at one time. Resistant to magic, but not immune. Terrible cry with no specific information about what it does. Reports vary, but we know they are...well hungry. They were a consequence of greed in most stories,” she sputtered to a stop.

“That is extraordinarily unhelpful, yet makes perfect sense somehow,” he said through gritted teeth, “and that thing is neither a spirit nor an animal. It is -- or once was -- a human. I would bet a significant sum of my vault on a curse.” 

“Bubbles ready,” she said. “How do you know it is or was human, Draco?” 

“I can feel it,” he reached back and found her leg with his hand. “I promise to explain later. Let’s get this done.” 

She said nothing, but in moments he was enveloped in an iridescent ball. Wordlessly he sent his coat flying over the Wendigo’s head. The thing scrambled, skin crackling, claws and jaws clicking. It had a rolling limp that creating a disturbing jerking motion, but it was fast. He sent it back and left as far as it could be from the intended destination. 

Draco moved hastily toward the right, trusting Hermione to follow him. An open door with the faint glow of daylight beckoned across the open room. He heard splintering wood behind them but didn’t risk a backward glance. They made the door just as the sound of ripping fabric rang from the opposite side of the room. Another shriek sent shock waves of nausea through his body. 

Hermione turned toward the door and calmly began a greater shield charm. She didn’t seem to be as affected by the dreadful sound from the creature. Draco doubled over covering his ears. When scream ceased and he regained his strength, he cast  _ muffliato  _ charm on himself. Hermione frowned but nodded. She planted her feet and pointed toward the room. Clearly, she meant to stand against the Wendigo here. The shield would have to hold it until they found the source. She planned to make sure it did. She was the most incredible woman he knew. 

He ran deeper into the room. It was full of various detritus. It looked like nothing so much as a forgotten storage room. He let the tether pull him along until he set eyes on the only thing not covered in a generous layer of dust and the knot in stomach solidified into something stone-like. He picked up the familiar ornamented bottle with a handkerchief. 

Suddenly the iridescent shimmering layer around his body faded. The building trembled and dust fell over both the wizard and scattered objects. He felt a pulse of magic and knew the proverbial bell had been rung. Time was up. 

He turned, feeling the ravenous call of the creature, even as the buzzing in his ears became more intense to block the noise. He was five steps from Hermione, but the beast was running at full tilt. It hit her spell with the full force of its body. The spell held, but the wood and stone of the door frame quaked. Heavy bits of the building began falling as Draco wrapped his arm around her middle and said, “Hang on.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading. If you made it this far and feel inclined, please comment or kudos!


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco and Hermione return to safety to regroup, but all is not well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't own these characters. Ms. Rowling is in no way responsible for what a do to her characters. 
> 
> Please don't post this elsewhere. Thank you so much for reading!

Hermione could feel the desiccated creature pushing through her defensive casting. Its vacant eyes lolled and dry tendons of its claws creaked. She shifted her weight and pushed more magic into the shield, but she knew it couldn’t last long. The frame of the door cracked and began to crumble. Spikes of fear-laced adrenaline race through her veins before a strong arm encircled her waist. The creature screamed again and chunks of stone began to fall around them. A cold burn began in the pit of her stomach, ratcheting up her heart rate. Something was wrong. Something was off. 

At last, she felt the tug of apparation. For a limitless moment, she was spinning in the ether. Colors blurred around her, as Draco’s warm arm gripped her. The icy pit in her midsection trembled and waned slightly. She held on, pushing the edges of the anxiety building in her. 

Then they were in his room among the piles of books and music. The coldness retreated further, melting as she sunk into safety. 

“Hermione?” His hands were on her, turning her this way and that checking for injuries. “Are you alright?” 

She nodded, “I think so,” finally searching out his gray eyes. He looked relieved. She asked, “are you alright?” 

“I’m…okay,” he gripped her hip pulling her down onto his oversized, unmade bed. “When it screamed, I felt,” he shook his head, “I don’t know. It did _ something _.” She felt him shiver against her. 

“I felt desperate, like the world would never be good again unless I could -- I’m not sure. Do something? Have something?” She crawled back into his arms nestling against his body in search of warmth. 

He hummed agreement then added. “It felt _ hungry _ and _ angry _ to me. I can feel the effect fading, but I doubt it will fully fade for a day or two.” 

Hermione thought about his words as she carded her hands through his gently curled blonde hair. _ Desperate, hungry, angry. _

Her lips found the soft place at his jaw just behind his ear where his pulse beat a frantic tempo. There were other, more important, things that deserved her attention. The wizard beneath her growled a name -- _ her _ name. _ Needful, craving, violent. _

Her hands found bare flesh and her nails tore while teeth nipped at the wild rushing blood just under his perfect pale skin. _ Aching, yearning, vicious. _

A sound she recognized as her own voice reverberated through her body. Strong hands bruised her hips and then moved to her arse. Other teeth were biting at her flesh -- taking ripping. She needed the heat, she would take it. She would kill the coldness in her gut with the heat of his body -- his blood. _ Anguished, famished, dangerous. _

She wrapped her legs around the heat of his body, feeling the hardness there that promised relief, if only briefly. He moved beneath her and she tightened her thighs refusing to release the quarry. She stretched her body against him and felt the quiver of his want. _ Yes, fill me with your body; sate me with your blood. _Then -- 

Ice cold water hit her back like a tidal wave. The air in her lungs congealed into pudding and breathing became laborious. 

“Hermione,” the familiar baritone voice vibrated the tiny hairs on her skin. She tipped her head back into the cold stream, leaning into the clarity it gave her. “You can have me, any of me, all of me, but it needs to be _ you_, Hermione.” 

She felt the cold tile hit her back and she was now fully in the freezing water of the shower. The man continued crooning to her in a melodic tone, “That’s it, darling, come back. You are alright. You are safe.” She felt gentle hands supporting her. “What can I do, Lioness?” 

She didn’t know what made her say it, but she heard herself ask, “Sing? Please, sing to me.” Moments later a soft voice echoed around her. 

_ Circe, sweet _

_ Cast your spell on me _

_ Terrible and wild _

_ I’ll tremble like a child _

_ Circe, sweet _

_ Bring me to my knees _

_ Transform me as you will _

_ My heart is yours to fill _

_ Circe, sweet _

_ Walking down the street _

_ So few ever know _

_ The power of your soul _

His voice called her back, pulled her into the pain -- into the light. He called her a lioness. He called her Circe. He called her Hermione. And that’s who she was. Hermione Jean Granger. The Golden Girl, Brightest Witch of her Age, Gryffindor Lioness. She wouldn’t let this control her, whatever it was. She fortified her will and opened her eyes. 

“Draco?” His gunmetal eyes looked at her with worry. His lips were slightly blue and his skin was pebbled. Reality finally collided with her brain and body and she started shaking. “Draco,” she put her hands on either side of his face, “I’m sorry. I… lost myself for a moment.” 

He reached over and turned off the shower. “Are you back in control?” He asked gently, his eyes never leaving her face. 

She nodded. Suddenly Draco sunk down landing hard on the frigid tile floor of the shower with Hermione still wrapped around him. 

“I thought for a moment I lost you, Lioness,” he let his head rest on her shoulder placing a soft kiss on her clavicle. He raised his hands to her hair and smoothed the sodden locks from her face. 

“I think we were both in trouble there,” she touched his neck where a thick drop of blood painted his skin. “I’ve seen entirely too much of your blood today.” She moved to rise from his lap and paused. 

He suddenly looked anywhere but her eyes and a ruddy flush colored his face. “Draco Malfoy,” she said, her voice incredulous, “we just experienced a life-threatening battle, a narrow escape, a semi-possession, and a shower the temperature of glacial runoff. How can you be in any way aroused?” 

“Well, you were…very enthusiastic when we were on the bed. I didn’t realize for a shameful amount of time that you were…” he motioned vaguely. “Are we going with ‘semi-possessed’? There must be a better name.” 

“I’ll do the research and let you know,” she said smiling as he rolled his eyes. 

“And now you are wet and very lightly clothed in my lap,” he looked down at her and she noted that all clothing was absent save her navy underwear set and cream camisole. At least Draco still wore his dark jeans, “I was not entirely unaffected by the scream, and I currently have a pulse and all of my mental faculties. So, yes,” His hands traveled up her body, touching the curves of hips and breasts like warm honey. “You always do this to me,” his voice was low and soft. He ran a finger down her right arm until he reached her fingers and gently picked up her hand and brought it to his chest. “And this, always this.” His pulse was a rapid march against her fingers. 

She stared at him for a long moment. She couldn’t tell him how much she feared his implications. She couldn’t tell him that when he called her _ darling _ a stab of terror raced from the tips of her fingers to her center at the same time that a giddy heat rose from her toes. They met in a pool of anxiety swirling about her middle. Ginny called her a hedgehog -- a porcupine -- at the end of her relationship with Ronald. She hadn’t meant for Hermione to hear her of course. _ “What did you expect, Ron? You hug a porcupine you come away with quills. She’s spikey by nature.” _

But Draco didn’t seem to mind her odd barbs, the jaggedness around her personality. Better, he saw beyond it. Even Harry had difficulty with that sometimes. Slowly she leaned forward, his eyes were dilated and trained on her. 

“I know the feeling,” her voice trembled, betraying her fear. She reversed the hold on his hand and pulled it to her chest, revealing her own heart's frenzied tattoo.

Hermione kissed him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this one is a little short. Thank you for reading. Please leave a kudos or comment if you can!


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reactions, actions, and a new plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing you recognize. Please don't post my work elsewhere! Thank you for reading! I always appreciate a Kudo or kind word. This work is un-beta-ed and all mistakes are my own.

Draco was cold, but he couldn’t find a single cell in his body that cared. Hermione’s hand pressed his fingers to her rapid pulse. He could feel a deluge of anxiety and affection but he couldn’t parse what was her and what was him. 

Her dark eyes were wide and vulnerable, as she began to lean forward. His world narrowed and everything became her. Her smell, her softness, her bottomless eyes, the part of her lips. He instinctively knew she was surrendering something to him with this kiss. He let her lead and embraced the gentleness of the press of her lips. So different from the frenzied heat of minutes ago, but so much more real. 

She pulled her lips from his but stayed centimeters from his face. “Draco, I...I don’t want to be  _ not _ in a relationship anymore.” The hope he had relegated to dreams and fantasy roared to the forefront and burned away his hesitation.

He wrapped on arm around her waist and brought her even closer, while the hand on her pulse moved to her face. “I can not  _ not _ be in a relationship for you, Granger. Anything you want,” he placed a soft kiss on her nose. 

“What about what  _ you _ want,” she asked. 

“My answer is the same,” he said kissing her left cheek. “I will take whatever you are willing to give, Hermione.” He knew it was a bit of a dodge, but the real answer wasn’t one she was ready for. The real answer was  _ everything _ . 

“Draco,” the way she said his name made him blissful, “You should know that I’m not… I’m not  _ good _ at this.” She shut her eyes tightly.

“What are you not  _ good _ at, Lioness,” he felt the spike of emotion, complex and tangled. It settled somewhere positive. 

“Sometimes things are too much for me. I try, but…” he waited for her to finish. “Some days it’s like I can’t get out of my own head.” 

He stroked her cheek, “I know that feeling.” He kissed her forehead. “Let’s get off this cold floor. We have some things to take care of, but we can talk. Sound okay?” He watched her eyes relax and open. She nodded and rose from his lap. She helped him up and they both stepped from the shower. 

She began peeling the soaked clothes from her form. “Would you have some dry clothes that I could borrow, Draco?” 

He watched her moving, becoming progressively  _ less _ clothed. It was not helping him refocus on the task. He was caught between the idea of her in one of his t-shirts lounging on his window sill with a book -- freshly debouched -- and the idea of her fuming at him in her prim little navy lingerie. Choices, choices. 

The Fates had a funny way bending him over a broom  _ just _ when he felt pretty damn good, so it shouldn’t have surprised him when his arm suddenly felt as if lightning had manifested violently under his skin. 

Clenching his jaw over the half-formed scream, he turned it into a pained moan. Hermione reached him as the pain regressed slightly. 

"Nyx, fuck," he said through gritted teeth. Hermione's hands were on him before he gathered coherent thought. 

"The anchor?" She asked. He nodded. "Sunstone. Where did I…” He let her voice fade focusing on breathing through the pain. He didn’t ignore it or push it away. Instead, he measured it out, felt it for what it was. Once analyzed he reminded his body that this wasn’t the worst pain he had experienced. He drove it down to the appropriate level and opened his eyes.

She was there again. Damp hair clinging to her face. Eyes intent on the focused Sunstone. His empathic defenses were still down and he absently observed the fear and affection flowing from her. The pain was almost worth the potent hit of her emotions. It was the closest he had been to believing that she might truly return some of his feelings. He should probably stop associating body crippling pain with emotional bliss. It was certain to create some seriously problematic connections in his brain. 

He saw the line between her eyebrows deepen and her lips set themselves into a firm line. It was a look anyone with good sense should fear from her. It was her battle face. A thought pushed its way through the odd chaos. A shield. She was about to break the anchor without a shield. 

Draco couldn’t force words through his fractured thoughts. Instead, he reached for his magic and grabbed the witch’s waist just as she cast her spell. The pain slackened and faded as he sent his shield to defend them both. She hit his chest hard, already raising her hand to add her shield to their protective layers. The magic of the two shields combined and flashed silver. It was beautiful but most importantly it was strong. Nothing touched them. They both paused watching the shine of joined magic. 

“Wow,” Hermione sighed, “I’ve never cast shields in tandem. It’s…” She leaned into his shoulder. 

“It’s impressive,” he said as he watched a small purple-ish pulse of light ghost over the sphere. 

“How do you feel?” She tenderly touched his left arm. “Has the pain lessened?”

He leaned his head against the wall and belly laughed. “What pain?" His fingers stroked her still-bare arm, "you are a panacea for my ills by all appearances." 

She elbowed him and it tickled. “I’m sure the backlash is done now.”

“More than likely,” he shrugged. “I think we should make a plan before we let the shield down. We need to destroy the source quickly.” 

“Did we get it -- the source I mean?” She asked as he watched her brain catch up with the rest of the events today. He nodded. ”The person behind this shouldn’t have been able to pull the anchor attached to the source if we go it. Are you sure we have the correct object?” ; 

“We got it,” he said, triggering the command for his extendable pocket. In moments he held out a wrapped item. She took it and carefully pulled back the top layer. A familiar gilt bottle rested in her hand.

“Draco, that’s a Vessel of Bacchus,” she said. 

“Yes,” he confirmed. 

“It’s the same one Elias had?” It was more statement posed as a question. She didn’t need him to confirm that it was. 

“It would make sense,” he said with a sigh, “as I’m fairly certain that was a Sangish property. They own most of Gramercy.”

“Nyx,” she said. “I’m guessing the curse is layered on top of the older magic. Which means --” 

“We would need to destroy the vessel to destroy the magic,” Draco finished her thought. “And I don’t know how they were pulling from the anchor. It can’t be good though.” 

“Alright we will simply destroy the vessel entirely,” she said as if such an undertaking was a typical weekend affair. 

“Have you ever destroyed an item bound with dark magic?” He asked as he pushed himself off the floor. Instantly the room spun on an odd axis and terra firma became an unsure thing. 

Her hand abruptly centered him again, orienting up and down into their natural order once more. “Strangely, yes,” she grunted as she steadied him with her body. “Bringing down Voldemort required a few acts of destruction.”

“Sure, sure,” he said as limped his way to the shield line with her help. “But, you know they fight back? Cursed objects, I mean. They will try to get into your head, play on your emotions, fears, weaknesses.” 

“Yes,” she said simply. The lilt of her voice indicated an unwillingness to elaborate. He didn’t push. If she had handled something of the evil bastard’s, she knew enough to keep up her guard and push through it.

“Typically I would take this part on alone, but I don’t think I’m strong enough to destroy it without help.” He reached down and grabbed her hand brushing her soft knuckles with his thumb. It was becoming a familiar gesture -- habitual, mutual physical assurance. 

"I could destroy it. Just tell me what is needed,” she said with determination, but he sensed trepidation her fearless words. 

“I believe this may call for a two-pronged approach, Lioness,” he smiled at her when she perked up at her valiant pet name. “The Vessel of Bacchus is remarkable easy to destroy. You simply need to fill it with water. Of course, it will not make that easy; it will fight you. As for the curse laid on top of the vessel,” he pulled a silver dagger from a hidden sheath on his thigh, “this dagger is infused with basilisk venom. Should take care of most things.” 

“And you keep in on your thigh? You must be mad!” She shook her head. “So stab, rinse, repeat as necessary.” She said looking up at him with her dark eyes. “Which do you feel you can do, Draco? You aren’t exactly in fighting shape at the moment.” 

“This will be mental fortitude, darling,” he clicked his tongue. “Nothing to do with my physical body. For the record, though, I could still fight if necessary.” 

“Maybe you could fight a particularly angry puppy. Are you sure this needs to happen today?” She turned her worried eyes to him. 

“If they can pull from me without the vessel, they can pull from others,” he clenched his teeth. “Elias, or whoever it is, needs to be stopped now.” 

“Alright,” he watched her lips press together again. “I’ll stab it then,” she said.

“Rinse it is,” he glanced at her. “We could do this inside the shields. It would stop any contact with outside forces. Limit the chances of a rogue bit of black magic doing damage to property or civilians.”

“Might intensify the effects,” she replied. 

“Risk I’m willing to take. You?” She looked at him for a long time and then nodded. 

“Just, stay with me okay, rock star?” She gave him a worried smile. 

“Right beside you, Lioness,” he gripped her hand. 

Hermione placed the Vessel of Bacchus down in the middle of the shields’ protective light. She palmed the dagger deftly and Draco brought his wand to bear in his left hand so he could keep her hand in his right. 

They made eye contact and nodded in synchronicity, raising respective weapons. And darkness descended. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be traveling next weekend, so I'll try to post before I leave! Thank you so much for reading this far! I love a comment or a Kudo if you have the time/inclination.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco and Hermione fight the cursed object together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is entirely from Hermione's POV and entirely inside the illusion created by the Vessel fighting back. Warnings for violence. 
> 
> I own nothing that you recognize. JKR is not responsible for the terrible way I treat her characters. 
> 
> I promise good things are coming, but this chapter is... well a lot of hurt.

There was a wind that brought the smell of bread and toffee to Hermione. She immediately knew the memory the dark object was drawing.

Christmas, two years after the war. It was her third year to observe festivities without her parents, her second without Tonks and Neville, her first without Crookshanks. The gifts had been given and carols sung and feast feasted. She had given appropriately elated reactions to Ginny’s shiny new engagement ring. 

Then she had slipped away upstairs to observe her own small tradition. She watched through the eyes of her past self as she carefully adjusted one of the stockings on the mantle in Ron’s drafty fourth-floor room. Four stockings with small wreaths of ivy hung there, honoring her mother and father, memorializing Neville and Tonks, both of whom had been ports in a storm -- relentless lights in the darkness for her. She stood remembering the names of loved ones and colleagues and taking a moment to miss them. 

She jumped when Ron spoke behind her, “Wotcher ‘Mione?” He grabbed her hips and dragged her against him. 

“Please, Ronald, I’m in need of a few quiet moments,” she tried to be gentle but she could see the pain in his eyes. 

“I thought we were going to let this be this year, Mione,” he ran hands up her sides. “You’ve got to learn to let go.” 

“I don’t want to let go if letting go means forgetting,” she pushed his hands. “Please don’t right now, Ron.” 

“Bollocks, Hermione,” he twisted her forcibly to face him. “I need you to let Christmas be happy. For Harry and Ginny. For my mother.” 

She tried not to react, but her whole body stiffened and her jaw tightened. It was a memory just a memory. She couldn’t stop what was coming. 

“Do you think she is happy, Ron? Do you think she forgets, even for a moment, that Fred is not here?” 

“I never _asked _you to forget,” it was too loud, his voice, too close and too loud. 

“No, you just want me to _pretend _to forget. You want me to put on a good show. Well, I tried. I smiled all evening. I had conversations. I bloody sang when all I wanted to do was burn the damn tree and scatter the ashes,” she looked up at the man she had loved wholly and hopelessly since she was 14 and found horror on his face. His hands bruised her as he gnashed his teeth forming a grimace on his open freckled face. 

“I wish I _ could _forget. I _ wish _ I didn’t look at you and see the ghosts we made together,” he released her and she tumbled backward. “I _ wish _ I didn’t know that _you _made the call that cost my brother’s life. I _ wish I _didn’t know you did the same for dozens of friends and allies. I _ wish _ I didn’t know that you did it with the calculated reasoning of an alchemist.” 

“I didn’t know that Fred would die. I did what I thought would be most advantageous,” she was gasping, panicking. The fire flared as she felt her anger and sorrow swirl into a maelstrom.

“You knew _ someone _would die!” He countered with a snarl. 

“It was a _ war_, Ronald Weasley,” she tried not to scream in a house not designed for privacy. “You cannot have a war without death. No one ever went on a mission without knowing the risks.” She turned her back to him biting back bile. 

“But they did, didn’t they?” His voice was quiet now, his words a knife sliding gently between her ribs. “Your little ring of spies gave you all sorts of little tidbits. Knowledge that could have protected our own, but you didn’t share that with us did you?” 

“I couldn’t. Attacks had to happen successfully so they wouldn’t know we had inside information. They couldn’t know what we were looking for, what we were planning. I…” 

“How long did you know about Harry? How long did you know you would be sending our best mate to the slaughter?” He stepped up to her back purring into her ear, twisting her hair affectionately. “How many times did you crawl into my bed covered in lies and guilt?” 

“I was needed, Ron, just as you were,” he sighed into her ear. "Harry came back." 

“You didn' know he would, though, did you? It makes me ill, ‘Mione, to think of you like that,” he kissed her neck. “It’s _ not _ the woman I love.” His hands moved to her waist lightly now, pleading with her. 

She did not want to live the rest of this. The sex, the tears, the leaving. Because the woman he loved was a half-truth. The woman he loved was the best of her, but she could never excise the worst. She pushed back purposefully on the scene. 

The memory warped then taking her to a place she knew, but an event that never happened. Headmaster Dumbledore was in his office pacing. “Ah, Miss Granger, have you balanced the debt yet?” She looked down at the red numbers on the parchment. 

“No, Headmaster, we are still a great deal behind,” she raised a quill and began to make a note of payment. _ The Cause formally submits payment in the amount of one Nymphadora Tonks to be deducted immediately from present debt. _Wait, that can't be right...

Her arm burned as _ Nymphadora Tonks _appeared in neat scrawl there. Suddenly her body was full of burning, bleeding names. Some she knew well, others were little more than vague initials on a volunteer manuscript. 

“Well, go on Hermione,” Fred Weasley’s laughing eyes met hers. “What else have I got planned tonight?” He’d said that to her when she gave him his last assignment with George. “What better distraction is there than us on a tear?” George had said that in reality, but Fred was the one smiling as he paled, winking at her as he died. She didn’t remember writing his name, but it was there when she looked down at the blood-red ink. It was there across her neck choking her. 

“Just one left, then,” said the dead Headmaster’s voice. He wasn’t there, of course. He was almost never there at the end. He preferred to organize from afar. Not unlike Ron. 

“I won’t do it,” she straightened her shoulders and set her jaw. 

“Hermione?” Harry Potter’s green eyes were slightly red and watery. He looked beaten and dirty. “Is it true?” 

She said nothing, looking down at the pen in her hand. Blood dripped from the desk as her bottom lip shook. 

“My girl, you’ve known for a while,” the kind old voice said. “It was always going to end here.” 

“No!” She said vehemently. She stood knocking over the chair and backing away from the table. Harry stood for a long moment looking at her. Finally, he took up the pen and wrote his own name. It burned into her skin just over her heart. 

There was a light pressure on her left hand. _Draco_. _That's right, this is all in my mind. _ She forced her eyes closed and felt the knife in her right hand. She pushed forward with the knife toward the book. There was physical resistance. The curse wasn’t ready to yield. She squeezed the vague sense of Draco’s hand. She heard his familiar baritone say something, but couldn’t make it out. 

She was thrust into another memory -- or not quite a memory. It wasn’t hers and it wasn’t right. It couldn't be a real memory. 

Draco stood in front of her, kneeling, eyes downcast. His hair was white-blond again and as long as Lucius’ hair had been. It was dirty and tangled, hanging limply around his face. His clothes were utilitarian and also dirty. The men in robes around him had stepped back, loathing to share the same space. They were afraid of him. 

The wizard canted his head upward slightly, “You summoned me, your Grace?” 

Hermione felt a cry leave her body but heard no sound. Draco had several deep scars across his face. His nose had been broken at least twice with no attempt to heal it and there was an open wound on his lower lip. She thought of his nervous habit to bite down on it and wondered if it was self-inflicted. By far the worst part was his eyes. They were wide, the whites unsettlingly visible, his irises pinpoints. He looked mad. 

A cold high voice drifted, cold and careless from behind her. “I have need of your -- particular talents, Duke Malfoy.” Lord Voldemort himself stepped into her peripheral vision. He snapped and Draco rose. His head swiveled abruptly and looked directly at Hermione. 

“You shouldn’t be here, Lioness. I don’t want you do see this,” his eyes were momentarily sane and familiar. 

“Then stop it,” she pled. “Find a way to make it stop.” 

But he was gone again, looking through her with wild eyes. “It is my pleasure to serve, my Lord.” 

With a wave of his hand, Voldemort summoned two guards dragging a prisoner between them. Seamus Finnigan hung limply, bloody and broken. 

“This one won’t give me what I want,” the snake-like man stalked around the dais. “Take his hope for me, would you? They talk so easily without that.” 

Draco bowed and walked stiffly to the young Irishman, removing his black gloves. His hands were a mass of scars and ink. He raised the left to Seamus’ shoulder and stared into his eyes. The man began shaking and screaming within seconds. After two minutes, he lay crumpled on the floor sobbing with vacant eyes. 

Draco stepped away shaking and turned to his master. His face was twisted with some mix of pain and joy. Even scarred, he was handsome, but this expression stripped him of humanity entirely. Hermione knew in her bones that Voldemort was not the thing she should worry about at that moment. That would be like worrying about a gun when there was a bomb in the room. The evil overlord didn’t seem to notice the menace radiating from his pet Duke. 

“Excellent! Delightful work!” The man put a bare foot on Seamus and the boy whimpered. “This will be exquisite.” 

Hermione saw it seconds before it happened. Draco lunged laughing maniacally. He grabbed the Dark Lord’s neck and squeezed. Both guards cast stunning spells but that would have only worked in a sane world. Sanity didn’t live here anymore. Sanity was on permanent hiatus. He was going to end it and take as many of them as he could with him. His hands sparked with raw magic, unchanneled. 

She had to stop him. 

"Draco, please!" She shouted it without hope of being heard. He paused and she squeezed his hand -- the real one -- the one in her own hand. The Draco in front of her closed his eyes in concentration. He said her name. He said it like an evocation -- like a summoning. And so it was. The not-memory faded. The Draco with the deranged eyes and matted hair stood in front of her. He looked at her as a light in the darkness. This close she could see his hair wasn’t, in fact, his usual platinum but white grey. On impulse, she reached out and fingered the formerly silky tresses. While she was distracted, there was a tentative touch on her sternum where an angry cursive name still marred her skin. Her eyes found his face, he wasn’t looking at her but his eyes were closer to normal. 

“We need to do this now, Hermione.” She raised her hand to his ragged lip, nodding. She forced herself to remember that she wasn’t here but holding a knife in Draco’s apartment. 

“Now,” she said. They moved in perfect unison. He cast _ aguamenti; _she thrust the silver knife. 

There was a resounding screech and crack. Then they were both on his bathroom floor. The Vessel of Bacchus was blackened and smoking between them. Their hands still joined.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooooo, I don't hate Ron. I just think he and Hermione are THE WORST idea. The first scene was a memory from Hermione, the second two were manipulations from the dark magic on existing memories and ideas. Draco's will be explained further next chapter as well as some of his POV. 
> 
> If you have time, please leave a kudo or a review!


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco finally admits a few truths.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing you recognize. JKR is not responsible for the terrible things I do to her characters. 
> 
> I did a few edits to last chapter to clarify a few things. No, Harry is not dead. Most of the memories and visions from the Vessel they destroyed are more fully explained here. 
> 
> Lastly, so sorry I am behind on updating! I had family business and travel. I tried to write but was miserably unsuccessful!

Draco looked down at the ruined bottle as it smoldered at his feet. He tried to order his thoughts but his mind was full of fractured logic. Flashes of the forced memories and manipulations the cursed vessel had compelled them to live through. 

He remembered the hard words whispered like a love sonnet into her vulnerable ear. The brutal crimson scars that wept blood and covered her precious body were burned into his psyche. 

Somewhere beyond the bounds of his control, his hands pulled her closer, his eyes searched her still bared skin. The rational part of him derided the action as what he had seen in the vision was  _ obviously a  _ metaphorical representation of Hermione’s perceived culpability for her wartime actions. Even so, he ran his thumb down her exposed arms and imagined he could  _ almost _ see the vague pink outline of letters. They were always there, he realized, even if they were unseen. If he could erase them all, he would for her. After all, that was one thing that set him apart from those idiotically brave Gryffindors. The good of the whole was not really his priority. The good of those for which he cared took precedence. For a Slytherin, a fight might be calculated or cold, but it would always be personal. 

Hermione's strong fingers fastened on his cold cheeks, spreading warm comfort and calling his attention. He blinked as he fell into her eyes momentarily. It took him several seconds to recognize the worry on her face and the tension in her frame. 

"By the gods, Hermione, I'm sorry you had to see that." Tears spilled down her face. 

"I…," she couldn’t seem to look away from him, “Draco, what was that? It felt  _ real. _ It felt like a memory but that isn’t possible.” 

“It could have been,” he pulled her hands from his face and held them gently in his own. He was afraid she would never want to touch him again after what he needed to tell her. “It was a possible future for me. That was where one path ended.” He pulled her toward the bedroom, noticing she was still unclothed. He quietly riffled through his t-shirts and handed her one with shorts he used as sleepwear, all thoughts of salacious quidditch uniforms forgotten. She dressed and waited on his window seat while he ran out of trivialities to occupy his hands. At last, he settled across from her on his unmade bed. 

“My mother has the Curse of Cassandra. Are you familiar with it?" He looked at her for confirmation. She scrunched her eyebrows.

"I know the myth. I didn't know it was a real curse." 

"Most of the truly old stories about magic and curses are true on some level," he shrugged. "It's a bloodline curse. Most pureblood families have one or two bloodline curses. It's almost a confirmation of entry into the loftier echelons of society. My mother sees visions of her descendants. They branch out over several possibilities and change as decisions are made. It's limited, of course, but reportedly extremely accurate. However, the cursed party can never tell anyone about the visions at risk of guaranteeing the worst possible outcome. Either that or they are simply unable to talk about it. I'm honestly not sure which is more correct. I think it's why I'm an only child, though that might be a Malfoy line curse," he knew he was speaking too quickly and giving extraneous information, but it was all he could do to keep talking. 

"What you saw is one of my mother's visions. Once I turned from that path and that future wasn't possible, my mother shared her memory with me. She had never done so with any other vision, nor has she shown me anything since. She stopped pacing at night after that. I think she sleeps more now." He paused hoping she didn't ask the next, most obvious question. 

"That must have been devastating for your mother," she said with a soft voice. "That is a particularly cruel curse for any parent." She shook her head. "In that timeline, Lord Voldemort won?" 

Relieved to avoid the more pressing question he spilled words more eagerly than was prudent. "I don't know if he won outright or played out a war of attrition. Either way, he was in power several years after the actualized events. I can usually avoid that memory or push it away before...before it comes to an end. I confess I'm not a good enough man to quell my feelings about your memory or the manipulation of the Vessel. It took advantage of my distracted condition."

"I apologize. I know that was… horrid. The things I did…"

"Stop that. It was a war. You are the bravest, most principled person I know," he said, standing and pacing. "I was angry on your behalf, not horrified at your actions." 

She snared his hand with her own. For the first time in their relationship, he realized her hands were not completely soft. The skin along her middle finger was rough from the quill. The webbing between the index and thumb dry and stiff from holding her wand. 

As sudden and devastating as an avalanche, he loved her. He knew on some level he had for a while. He just stopped trying to hold back the tide and it swept his meager precautionary measures away like matchsticks. This wise witch who warred with words until wands were needed, this compassionate woman who saw worth in the most unlikely places, she was here with him. How could he not love her with everything he had for as long as she would let him. 

"Draco, what was wrong with your eyes in that vision?" He froze, confused. It wasn't the question he was expecting. 

"I don't know. I can't see my own eyes," he tipped his head back slightly. "However, I suspect it was madness." 

She was quiet.

"Aren't you going to ask?" He risked a glance at her expressive eyes and found her patiently waiting. 

"No. But I'll listen if you want to tell me," his soul quaked to his core. She knew him, cared for him enough to give him space. 

“Do you know what an Empath is?” He searched her face. A familiar expression appeared there as she turned inward to access the vast well of information that lived in her intricate mind. 

******************************************************************************

Hermione searched for the memories of the two books she had read on the phenomenon of Empaths. None had been reported in several centuries. She considered how best to approach the information, but settled on the direct method. Draco had been open to her forthright questions before. 

“I’ve read that they are people who can perceive and react to another person’s emotions,” he nodded and waited for her to continue. “In wizards and witches, it tends to manifest in early childhood and co-occur with instability and madness. They will be mercurial of temperament and hyper-emotional. Muggles can have a lesser talent, but magic tends to magnify the effects. It is a rare talent because most empaths never reach reproduction.”

“Ten points to Gryffindor,” he gave her a small smile. She shoved his shoulder. She let the lightness of the familiar exchange comfort her for a moment before he continued. “What you do not know can’t be found in any textbook. There is a certain family in which the Empath bloodline runs deep. They survived and thrived due to a singular discovery. If you can teach a young Empath to ward his or her emotions from others by making it a game, survival tends to spike considerably. Of course, it’s easiest to frame other’s emotions as ‘opposition’, easiest by far to create emotional detachment by framing everyone else as lesser. Others become tools to manipulate.” She cast her eyes downward; she was following his story far too well. 

“If an Empath can master warding his emotions, he can simply observe others without absorbing their spillover,” he continued. “If he reaches maturity, he may be able to influence the emotions of others.” The wizard rose and began to pace the length of the room. 

“You need to explain, Draco.” She heard her own voice -- detached and cold. She understood how powerful that talent could be. Emotions could push a logical person into  _ very _ ill-advised things. 

“I’m an Empath.” 

“Yeah, I got that far,” the barbs in her voice undeniable, but she didn't move away as he came closer. “I remember school.”

He hissed a little in distaste. “Yes, I was an exceedingly excellent tosser wasn’t I?” 

“Brilliant,” she said in a brittle tone. “Were you mucking around with emotions even then?” 

“No,” he replied quickly. “No, I wasn’t but mostly because I couldn’t. I can’t say that I didn’t use everything I could to manipulate you and everyone around me. It was  _ just what I did _ .” She stared at him with an undercurrent of pain but let him continue. She tried to imagine what that kind of power would have been like as a twelve-year-old. She wasn’t sure anyone would wield it well. “Influencing someone else is nearly impossible. I couldn’t begin to do it until I was almost 17. When you do it there is a rebound. You can’t affect someone else unless you let them affect you.” He shivered and shook his hands. Sparks flew from his fingertips, and he pressed his bottom lip between his teeth. "Could have been different, I suppose, but I'm Draco  _ bloody _ Malfoy. Most people don't feel joy in my presence. 

"I've only intentionally tried it twice with ensuing panic attacks and bouts of depression as consequences. Not that I wasn't experiencing both of those delightful challenges before." He stopped pacing and leaned back against the wall near the window, his pale throat bared. It looked like a position of surrender -- a plea for mercy. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you before now. The need for secrecy is instilled early and often." 

She reached out catching his wrist. "I can imagine such talents would be frightening to anyone with a good grasp of human behavior. It’s a fairly dangerous power, Draco.” He didn’t open his eyes but scoffed and smiled. 

“So the ability to set fires and levitate things. We still give eleven-year-olds wands,” she raised her chin taking a breath to argue. She released the air with a huff as she examined his face once more before nodding. “In the 15th century, they simply killed any child who displayed the ability. Telling the Ministry what I can do could have rather dire consequences for me,” he mumbled. That was cruelty she had never read about but suspected from the subtext of the historical tomes. The fear of discovery must haunt the gifted even now. 

The witch eyed him carefully. “Who else?” 

“Who else?” She thought the crease between his eyes was rather endearing, even during a serious conversation. 

“Are there others in the Malfoy line I should worry about?” She kept her gaze steady on him. 

He gave her a grin that was somehow sad. "There are no more Malfoys, Granger. I’m it. But the Malfoys are not the bloodline you should be worried about.” 

“The Blacks. Of course!” She practically vibrated as she followed the thought to its conclusion. “The madness, the detachment. Bellatrix and…” 

“...And Regulus too. Though he controlled it better I believe. My father once told me he could calm the Dark Lord himself for a short time.” 

“It must be difficult to see someone as a lesser being when you feel emotions.” She thought out loud. 

“I seemed to manage,” he shrugged, his voice mildly bitter. “Anyway, I’m the last of that bloodline, too. Well beyond Andromeda and her grandson.” 

“Teddy,” Hermione provided. “Edward Remus Lupin. He would be your second cousin?” 

“Yes. I’ve kept up with him from a distance. He will be starting Hogwarts next year. No signs of the Empath around him.” There was a small whistful smile on his patrician face. “He seems happy.”

“Why do you stay at a distance? They are the last of your living family.” She reached for his hand again without a thought. His physical touch comforted her, and this new information did little to change that. His lovely eyes open a fraction in surprise and then he curled his elegant fingers around hers. 

“My aunt has made it very clear that my mother and I are unwelcome in the boy’s life.” His fingers twitched slightly. “We certainly wouldn’t have helped his reputation. I think she enjoyed throwing that particular line in my mother’s face.” A downward turn of the lips, “I would feel it necessary to step in and help if I saw any sign that he had a similar affliction. I wouldn’t see him fall to madness.” Unbidden, the image of his mad eyes in the vision sprung to her memory. 

"What happened? The two times you tried to affect others, I mean." She stared carefully at the base of his throat, unwilling to cause him pain but unable to ignore the questions that needed answers. The slight prominence of his Adam's apple bobbed before he answered. 

"After my father died, my mother felt guilty about abandoning him. She felt she was directly responsible. I know you think of him as a paragon of evil and villainous beyond measure but," he worried his already bloody bottom lip. 

"But he was your father, too," she raised her hand to his wounded lip. "No one could blame you for a son's love, Draco."

With a biting laugh, he shook his head, folding her hand in his. "Almost everyone does."

She recognized her own culpability and slumped her shoulders slightly. "We shouldn't."

He placed a fragile kiss against the back of her hand. “I shouldn’t have tried. She grew up a Black. She knew exactly how to shield herself. Still got the rebound, though. Needed isolation for three days just to put myself back together, after she forced me out.” 

She pressed her forehead into his chest, sensing the concussion beat of his heart, smelling sweat and soap and coffee. She wondered why she felt unsettled, and why she wanted to press herself into his skin until he became part of her. “And the other time? That was the man with the mark wasn’t it?” 

“Yes,” he said, his voice thick and clumsy. “I didn’t even know what I was doing.” The hitch of his breath stirred her head as he marshaled a sob. “Hermione, I just wanted to make him feel...anything good, but he gave me the good. I came out of that black, stinking place with a smile on my face and able to pass measure from a psychopath who can... _ could _ read minds because the man  _ I killed _ was so much a better person than I am that he couldn’t help but give me his happiness. What did I give him but death and fear and pain? Why should I be here instead of him? I tried to be better. I just don’t believe I will ever, in my whole life, be worth a single day of his.” He stopped fighting the sobs. Her heart sundered for him. 

“You can’t measure lives like that,” she wrapped her arms around him and he hesitated for just a moment before returning the gesture. “You can’t say ‘I’ve saved this many people, and only lost this many. My leger is balanced now.’ All you can do is your best.” 

“You know what they say about those in glass houses, Granger,” he laugh-sobbed. “Give me a moment, then I’ll floo you home.” He brushed his hand over her curls and shivered slightly. “I think I’m going to need at least the afternoon to curtail this emotional disaster. I’m hypersensitive to everything after that,” he gestured at the ruined dark object, “and I’d prefer not to further embarrass myself.” 

Hermione thought for a few moments. “You may floo me home, of course, but I would very much like to stay.” She caught his grey eyes in the snare of her gaze. His expression warred between elation and fear. 

“My fierce little lioness, I can’t tell you what it means to me that you want to stay” he shivered again when she ran her hands up his back. “Even though you know everything now. But...I cannot do this right now. Being here with you the way I am, it’s too much. I already have feelings for you, I can’t be casual like this.” He ran his hand up her arm slowly, “We haven’t talked about this, yet. I’m trying to respect your wishes.” 

“If you want to respect my wishes, let me stay.” She’d made her choice. She wanted him to know. 

“Hermione," she silenced him with a kiss. He brought his cool hands to her neck and ran his thumbs over her cheeks. She felt him glide his tongue into her mouth, and she bit down lightly and then tangled her own with his. She tasted blood and salt, but it was sweet. It scared her that she wanted this. It was frightening that she wanted something more. But she’d be damned if she would leave without showing him how she felt. She raked her nails from his shoulder blades to his waist. He pulled back with a gasp. 

“Nyx,” he wove his clever fingers into her hair, pulling her head back gently. “I want you, Hermione. You don’t know how you make me feel.” 

“Have me. Show me. Let me stay” She felt him quiver under her fingers. The power she held over him was intoxicating. There was thunder between them. His hands were suddenly everywhere. He lost his discretion, open passion on his face. It was the same way he played his guitar. She loved the awed way he looked at her during their previous encounters, but  _ this _ … this was intense and formidable. 

She matched him touch for touch, arching and nipping until her breathless moans were mingled with his. They joined frantically with a cry and a sigh. He drove her and she met the challenge with vigor. When she fell from her precipice, he measured his purposed thrusts drawing out the pulsing agonizing decadence of her peak. Then he took his own plunge with a groan between pain and bliss. 

They wrapped each other in the tenuous protection of physical comfort and let it be enough. The world and its trouble would wait for tonight. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. If you have the time and inclination, please leave a Kudo or comment!


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco and Hermione talk. A package arrives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for the delay. Life is busy. I will try to do better! 
> 
> Also, I own nothing. Please review! It means the world!

Draco Malfoy was dreaming. His mother sat in a chair before the blazing fire in the smallest of the three drawing rooms in the Manor. It was the one she always preferred but kept most private. The marble mantel had a golden patina, earned with age, and was shot through with black shining veins. Draco viewed her as though he sat in the large chair beside her, as he frequently had when he lived at his family estate. Narcissa Diaphenia Black Malfoy held her husband’s cane between her long thin fingers. The snake’s jeweled green eyes flashed in the firelight and the woman holding it smiled. It was a small thing that looked unfamiliar on her face. Her hazel eyes shifted toward her son and she gave the barest nod. 

The scene softened and faded. Draco floated through calm, dreamless oblivion. In the way of sleep, time had no anchor and moved along meaninglessly. He moved through soft greys and midnight blues unbothered by memory or vision. A feather-soft warmth wrapped him in velvet and rocked him to relaxation. With every breath, he inhaled the earthy scent of patchouli cut with sweet vanilla and sharp witch hazel. It was distinctly _ Hermione. _Some combination of shampoo and the facial cleanser she used nightly. No perfume could have been sweeter. 

Slowly he became aware of a gentle hand trailing idly down his bare arm. Her warm breath ghosted across the skin of his neck. The warm feeling in his lower belly that had been ever-present in his dream trembled and rippled. She inhaled with a soft gasp and began trailing her hand back up his arm. He opened his eyes and found her watching her fingers trailing a path of gooseflesh up his arm as his body woke to her touch. In the soft pink light of early morning, she seemed unaware of his gaze, enraptured by her own ministrations. Her golden skin glowed in the dawn sunlight while her dark curls shone. When she made it to his shoulder, her brown-eyes flicked to his face and froze. 

“Good morning,” she said with a slow, open smile. The wings, which he was certain simply resided in his stomach full time now, fluttered boisterously to life, sending a thrill through his body. 

Her eyes dilated and a delicate shiver passed over her. Dismayed Draco realized he had no emotional occlumency in place. He was forcing his feelings on her. 

"Nyx," he muttered, as he hastily gathered the threads of his will. "I'm sorry, just let me…"

"No, please don't," she pinned him with her upper body and threw her hand to his unshaven cheek. "Don't put up your walls. I...I like knowing what you feel when I talk to you. I mean, as long as it doesn't hurt you." 

His heart flipped nervously. "No, it doesn't hurt me. I'm not… I'm not trying to take or give anything. You are just," he paused trying to find words. It was describing flavor to someone who has never eaten anything but stale bread. "It is more like an overflow. When I have a strong emotion, it can project if I don't contain it. The same happens when you have strong emotions but you don't have the extra ability to push it. It's like an echo for you, or maybe a ripple effect -- your emotions reflect mine briefly." He stopped babbling, marginally satisfied with his answer. 

"I felt something like that at your concert," she tilted her head down, placing a kiss below the line of his clavicle. Heat seeped slowly southward and she gave him a sly grin. "Though not nearly like this."

"I'm not usually this open,” he wrapped one arm around her waist. “I can’t help a little slipping through when I play, but this,” he placed his opposite hand into her hair and ran a thumb over the shell of her ear. “This is not a position with which I am familiar, darling.” He felt the sudden flare of tension and heat that accompanied the endearment. An embarrassing amount of blood flow had been making its way southward already, but now he felt dizzy from the sudden lack of blood _anywhere _else. “Do you like it when I call you ‘darling’, Hermione?” 

Her deep eyes diverted and she sighed. “_ Yes_, it terrifies me how much I like it. It scares me that you can make me feel this way with a _ word_,” she hid her face against his chest. “It feels vulnerable. I’m not great with that.” He felt her nose nuzzle into him. He felt the smile break over his face. 

“Oh, Hermione, you have no idea how much you pull the strings here, do you?” She looked up at him, cautious and confused. He sighed and ran a thumb across the cupid’s bow of her mouth. 

He sat up carrying her with him so that she straddled his hips. Cradling her face in one hand. “All you ever need to do is say my name and I’m at your feet. I have no defense against you. You waltz into _ my _ café...” 

“Hey, Cecile’s is mine!” He kissed the corner of her smile and felt a bubbly kind of happiness. 

“I’ve been playing Cecile’s for three years. It’s at least _ mostly _ mine.” She traced the black ink of the tattoo slightly to the left of his heart. 

“Perhaps we shall agree to share it then?" She kissed his jaw, hand still splayed over his heart. He wondered if she was tracking the pace of his pulse. "I don't think I will mind sharing with you, Draco."

When she said his name -- as with every time she said his given name -- tiny strings of delicious tension snapped taut across his middle sending shudders of sparks through his body. Hermione’s breath caught in her throat, followed by a sharp laugh. 

“You meant your literal name? Before when you said...” His face felt like he was a little too close to a Horntail’s flame. Nonetheless, he nodded. “That’s...that’s just the _ best _ thing I’ve heard in a very long while.” She locked eyes with him. “At least, I know I’m not out here alone in this.” 

"No," he said, pulling her closer. "Decidedly not alone." He kissed her softly. She reciprocated with heat. The thought occurred to Draco that an emotional feedback loop during sex might be the best version of mutually beneficial cheat codes ever considered.

Then his mother’s large grey eagle-owl swooped into the room with an irritated screech carrying a small package with a letter attached. Hermione jumped from the bed at the first sign of movement outside the window and stood with her wand, summoned from nowhere apparent, in her outstretched right hand trained upon the owl. She was naked and unashamed in a strong stance he had taught her. He marveled at her for the barest of moments. The owl was a proud thing and refused to back down, but it did have enough sense to keep flying in circles. A jittery tightness flooded his emotions and he reluctantly pulled up his empathic defenses. 

“It’s my mother’s owl, Hermione,” he said with a placating gesture. “Electra, to the perch please.” The large bird lit heavily on the large wooden perch that could pass as a decorative coat rack. 

“People trace owls,” she said, still at arms, eyes searching out the open skylight. 

“Yes,” he shrugged, “But I’m one of the most hated wizards in Europe. Before that I spent two years as a top target for every Death Eater alive, barring a shot at one of you lot. I’ve taken every precaution against a trace, a bug, a deadfall, et cetera for years.” 

“Still,” she relaxed her shoulders marginally. “I’d like to have a look at your wards and your anti-trace spellwork before we stay here again.” Draco felt his body temperature rise at the mention of _we _ and _stay _. He ignored the specter of his libido and his ludacris romantic notions doing a tap dance across the worn wooden floor at the thought of future nights and days with this magnificent witch. Instead, he stepped over to the owl who sat patiently extending one large talon. He gently removed a small package and a letter in his mother’s ornamented writing before smoothing Electra’s feathers and offering her a dried piece of a mouse from the bowl on the mantle. 

“Orestes is on the roof, my girl,” he said as the bird nuzzled his hand affectionately. “Go visit while you can and get some rest. My mother will want you home soon. She won’t know what to do without you.” The owl emitted a low warbly hoot and Draco gave her another piece of meat before she beat her wings and flew aggressively toward Hermione. To the witch’s credit, she did not flinch, nor did she cast. She gauged the owl’s flight and stepped decisively to the left letting the feathered creature ascend with a hiss of distaste. 

“Well, your mother’s familiar detests me. That’s an excellent start to the day,” she laughed. Retrieving his borrowed shirt, she pulled it on as she curled herself into his favorite chair. 

"Electra quietly detests everyone. My mother and I found ourselves in her good graces after we healed her brother," he said as he vanished the few strewn feathers left in the owl's wake. "Honestly I am surprised she was that aggressive. She generally ignores everyone but my mother and myself."

"Hmm, perhaps she senses I value honesty above the veil of polite lies," she said absently twisting her curls into a low bun. 

Draco gave a quick jerk of his head as he used a decorative pin to prick the skin of his thumb. "Doubtful. She's a society owl. Appearances are paramount." He brushed the tiny drop of blood across the seal which folded open nearly to reveal a short scroll of flourished sentences. 

"Typical," she said sharply. "We _ must _ shed some precious pure blood." 

"Less than two minutes ago you were on about security," he tried to mitigate his annoyance. "This is the safest way I know to send a private correspondence. Is there some method more aligned with equality I should know about?" 

After a brief glare, she said very softly, "Saliva." 

He hadn't expected a response. "What?"

"You could use saliva," she rose from the chair. "It would require minimal changes, be as secure, and avoid the use of blood. No, no we simply _must _bring in blood. You realize that is likely the source of ‘by the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes,’ don’t you?" 

He blinked, thinking. "I...it's such an ancient spell. I would assume all variations had been exhausted."

"A good wizard assumes nothing. I'm willing to bet a hefty sum that you never questioned it." She gently reached for his hand which he surrendered instantly. “This little quirk of biology,” the bead of blood on his thumb caught the light as if cued, “has caused so much pain.” Her downcast eyes gave her a look of reverence, but her words did not match. “Would everyone be so enamored of the phrase if it was 'Pure-spits'? A covenant sealed in piss? The sputum of our ancestors?” Draco’s brain wanted to reject the idea, but his gut knew she was right on a number of levels. The dark-haired witch flicked her eyes up to his face with a wicked smile. “I’ll admit that blood is…” she licked the crimson drop from his thumb leaving behind velvet heat, “sexier.” He heard himself make a low sound somewhere between agreement and pleasure. “But for nearly all ritual purposes, it is practically interchangeable with any other bodily fluid. It really is an impractical and outdated obsession. Quite equivalent to the ideology that typically accompanies it. ” 

“I don’t believe I’ve given it much thought,” he admitted. “Yet, not many people die of spit loss, Lioness. Many of those spells require something that is dear to you. A symbol of life. A costly thing to give.” 

Her fathomless eyes averted to the window. “Granted. It simply seems profane to glorify it. None of you seem to see how it infiltrates even the simplest of things. Even Ron. Even Harry.” She released his hand gently. “I need a real shower,” she sighed and picked her way across his room toward the bathroom. 

“Hermione,” he said watching her as she turned her profile toward him. He had left so many ideas on the floor of a dirty dungeon at 13B Knockturn Alley and yet more along the path that war drove him down. Still, there was more for him to shed. “I will try to be more mindful. Thank you for bringing it to my attention.” Her smile was a small thing and a tension he hadn’t noticed relaxed from her shoulders. She nodded and turned back to the open doorway. 

He turned back to the letter, aware that she was giving him a little privacy. 

_ My Little Dragon, _ she began with the greeting she had used in every correspondence since his earliest memory. He always wondered why she chose to name him after a star in her family tradition, but then called him a dragon. Perhaps she knew, even then, that he needed more presence and bite than some cold star that lived far above the fray. _ I hope this letter finds you well. I have enclosed some petit fours as a congratulatory gesture, as well as a few odds and ins I have meant to send for some time. Your promotion is a testament to the eventual wisdom of even the most idiotic statesmen. Give Mr. Pruett my regards. _ He allowed himself a small laugh. “Regards” from Narcissa Malfoy was equivalent to “feck off”. _ My dearest, please plan to come home on the Solstice Formal this year. You are to be recognized along with several others. Then please stay for Christmas. I am aware that public appearances cause you great discomfort, but it is the appropriate time. Perhaps you could invite a friend for encouragement. _ Draco wondered, for the millionth time in his life, how much his mother knew, and glanced at the closed bathroom door. _ In addition, I do miss you terribly. With all my love, Your Mother. _

He folded the letter carefully and placed it an ornate box that would open for none but him. Yet another piece of blood magic. He thought with distress about how much blood was in his possession at this moment. He shook off the idea and reached for the small package. Opening it he quickly surveyed the three options and plucked up a lemon raspberry petit four with buttercream icing. His mother knew his weakness for sweets. He’d need to do some extra running or flying later, but the small cakes were entirely worth it. He decided to save one of the three for Hermione, provided she was quick with the shower. He could not be expected to maintain self-control forever where buttercream was involved. 

A small photograph slid haphazardly from the box as he reached for the second petit fours. He picked it up while licking the fingers of his other hand, unwilling to waste the rich icing. Then his mouth went dry. Well, this was going to complicate things. _ Fuck. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Please take the time to review/kudo if you can!


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is smut and we look at a picture.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovely readers, 
> 
> I must apologize for my delay and beg patience in the future. I don't usually share personal information, but I feel you should know I am a nurse. This last week and the upcoming weeks promise to be challenging at best and chaotic at worst. I had other intentions for this chapter, but I didn't have the mental energy or time to do that particular story this week. I also did have the emotional energy *not* to write. So here's some mild smut and character development. Please take care of each other in this crazy world. Leave a comment or/and a kudo if you have the time. It really means a lot.

Hermione rinsed her hair for the second time. Draco’s shower was better than her’s in both heat and water pressure. She tried to be annoyed but couldn’t muster the feeling. The last 48 hours had been exceedingly intense. The Traitor’s Mark, Draco bleeding all over the place, the search, the Wendigo -- and the after effects, and everything he had told her last night was a lot. She turned things over in her mind, searching for connections, patterns, anything that might link the pieces together. Vague links drifted in and out of her thoughts, but none solid enough to build upon. There was a nagging at her subconscious that she was missing a crucial piece of the puzzle, but try as she might, she couldn't follow that thought thread to any useful conclusion. Frustrated, she let her mind wander back to the blonde wizard in the next room. 

For the first time in a very long time, her romantic entanglement (or lack thereof) was not confusing. She knew what she wanted. She knew what she felt. As a bonus, she knew what he felt, too, insomuch as it was possible. His openness had been an off switch for her anxiety. He let her in, let her feel things with him. It had utterly ruined her. She wanted to be ruined daily. Then she had derailed everything, first with her paranoia, then with her acerbic tone. 

_ Yet _ , she thought, _ he did hear me out _. Hermione shook herself out of the self-doubt crowding her mind. She recalled the way his eyes watched her as he worked her body with this own last night, pulling her pleasure from her like fine silk. She thought of the potent flash of emotion that neither of them were ready to name when she said his name this morning in bed. The curve of his smile that could go from bright to bewitching in an immeasurably infinitesimal moment was wholly unfair. That Draco Malfoy made her feel these things was incongruous at best, but she had stopped questioning it.

She wanted to finish what they started this morning. Hardening her resolve she stepped from the hot water and planted her feet. _ Are you a witch or a mouse, Granger? Go get what you want. _She pulled open the door with a determined whip, deciding the shower would be an excellent excuse. 

Draco stood with his back to her looking intently at something on his desk. He was bare-shouldered, wearing only soft pajama bottoms. She paused to appreciate his form because someone should _ really _ do that daily for the sake of all the poor artists out there deprived of such sights. Somewhere in the afterlife, Michaelangelo wept. He turned his face toward her with a perplexed expression, his grey eyes sharp. 

“Hermione?” He asked several questions without actually asking a single one. 

“Take a shower with me,” his cheeks flushed pink and his lips parted slightly as he turned toward her like a flower drawn to the sun. She noticed a small smudge of icing at the corner of his mouth. 

“Lioness, I… there are...we should,” he gestured vaguely at the desk and the box. She couldn’t resist this side of Draco -- slightly off-kilter and rambling. It was on par with excitedly researching Draco and breakfast making Draco and serenading Draco… well, damn _ most _ aspects of him. 

“Yes, I’m sure it’s all very important,” she said as she made her way to him. “I am equally sure it can wait until we are bloody well ready for the day,” she pressed herself against him, aware on some level this was incredibly bold. He made her feel that way -- bold, willing, like a lioness. Following the feeling, she tipped her face upward and licked the sweet buttercream from the corner of his mouth. “Draco,” he sighed nuzzling into her wet hair, “come shower with me, _ please _.”

“Merlin,” his hands planted themselves on her hips. “Shower. I can make time for a shower.” He began guiding her backward while she deployed a full assault on his lips. When she stumbled on a pile of manuscripts he easily pinned her to his body and lifted her, carrying her the rest of the short distance. It was disorienting to be carried and her head spun pleasantly. 

Once across the threshold of the washroom, the steam from the shower enveloped them. As he returned her to the ground, she hooked her thumbs on his soft cotton pajama bottoms and slid them over the jut of his hips, stripping him. Stepping into the shower, she allowed the water to sluice over her canting her head back slightly. His slate grey eyes studied her as if to memorize the moment. 

Draco moved toward her confidently. He was always self-assured when they were intimate. Even though he had closed himself from her, she could see the incredible depth of passion in his eyes -- and perhaps something else. These moments seemed to banish the anxiety and trepidation so ever-present for them both. His hands found her body, disrupting the flow of warm water with a heat all their own. 

He liked to watch her reactions. She caught his eyes following her often. He watched her all the time but no time so much as during sex and foreplay. His gaze was a beguiling mix of reverence and want. His careful study yielded results. He could do things to her with only his hands that no other man could have done with much more. But Hermione didn’t want the slow and the sweet, or even the unhurried and sensual. She wanted it to be desperate and fast. Taking his capable hands into her own she pulled him close and kissed him. As well as he studied her, she was a scholar to her core. Her left hand trailed circles down to the small of his back while her right hand scraped fingernails through his hair. A gentle moan reverberated against her lips as a reward. 

Once he was well and properly lost to her ministrations, she pulled back appreciating the pink tint of his skin and red bitten lips. “Don’t make me wait, Draco.” 

The corners of his perfect mouth turned upward. “That’s twice you’ve used my name, witch. I know exactly how clever you are. So…” he backed her gently into the tile behind the stream of water, “are you purposefully taking advantage of my recently revealed weakness, little Lioness?” 

She smiled up at him. “What kind of Lion would I be if I didn’t take every advantage?” 

He lifted her by her hips and slid into her filling her up and pulling a moan from her lips. “What kind indeed, my darling?” Hermione saw stars. And planets. And fucking sunbursts. 

After that everything was a blur of lips and hands and tongues. She was vaguely aware of bruises where he held her, the marks on his pale skin left by her teeth and fingernails. She was mostly aware of his voice hoarsely praising her, of her own nonsensical murmurs. She was aware of the way his movement gave her pleasure and the way the tile against her back gave her gooseflesh. It didn’t last long, but _ gods _ it was amazing. 

Later, back in bed, she cradled his head against her chest as he traced the curve of her breast down to her hip and back up. She sighed with contentment. 

“Alright, it’s a respectable hour now,” she stroked his unruly drying hair. “What is this continued impending doom you were so eager to tell me about.” 

He frowned and worried at his bottom lip. She just healed it last night as he slept, but she feared it would be a regular need. “I was rather enjoying feigning ignorance.” The wizard trailed a slow kiss on the rise of her left breast and moved downward subtly. “I can’t convince you to remain unenlightened for a few more hours? Or days? Or years?” He trailed kisses over her stomach. 

“You _ could _, but you believed it extremely important just an hour ago,” she squirmed slightly as he brushed his lips over her scars and ticklish ribs. 

“It would be extremely easy to take the win here, Hermione. We could throw that picture away and bury our heads in the sand.” He looked up at her with sad gray eyes. 

“Is that what you really want, Draco?” 

“No. I just wish the _ right thing _wasn’t always so bloody hard,” he rolled onto his back with a grunt. “I always know I’m doing it when I’m in pain.” 

She laughed as he reached toward the bedside table. He retrieved a small square photograph and handed it to her. 

In the photo, a couple inclined their heads together. His hand was on her hip and hers on his chest. It was not a posed photo as the couple turned in visible shock as the frame ended. The man she recognized as a young Elias Sangish. His skin was less callow and his smile more earnest, but the eyes were the same. It was the woman that caught Hermione’s eye. Large hazel green eyes stared at the flash of the camera. They were framed in a round, bright face that she knew well. Her hair was different and she was younger, but the woman was unmistakable. 

“Draco, why is Gerry getting very cozy with Elias Sangish in this picture?” 

“Likely for the same reason that her son could be a young Elias’ doppelganger. I don’t have a photo but I swear it is true. I was a bit thrown at the hospital.” 

After a long pause, Hermione nodded her head. “We need to talk to Gerry”


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione starts digging into leads while she and Draco cuddle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing etc. etc. 
> 
> There is a lot of cuddling in this chapter. I think I subconsciously needed to write that. I'm working fairly long hours and self-isolating for everyone's protection, so non-medically necessary human contact is a fond memory at the moment. I wish you and yours health and safety. Be careful, stay home if you can, and wash your hands (you filthy animals). 
> 
> Review and Kudos if you have the time/desire!

The weather stubbornly refused to be deary as befit the situation. It was cold but sunny and colorful. Draco hated that he was dragging them both into the blackness that was his past. Hermione’s hand rested in his own with a comfortable warmth and she leaned against him as they sat in front of the open window. He would give all the gold in his vaults to avoid  _ ever _ going back into his father’s world -- the world he left. It made things worse that he once enjoyed it. He liked to play the game of secrets. He enjoyed the delicate dance of influence and power, at least insomuch as a 16-year-old boy could participate. He had been infinitely naive about consequence, infinitely careless about those  _ beneath _ him. Callus and idiotic. It had cost more than he was willing to pay, but no one gives you the bill before they sell you the service. And no one tells you how incredibly wrong your parents can be or how monumentally difficult questioning your entire moral, ethical, and social code could be as an adult. It had been easier to disappear entirely, to reject  _ everything _ and just start over. The past, however, had a nasty habit of sinking its poisoned fangs into his arse. Live by the serpent; die by the serpent. 

While they waited for his owl to return with a reply from Gerry who had disappeared with her children, Draco tried to give Hermione the essential facts. He had never been particularly close to Elias. The Malfoys were associated with the Sangish dynasty, of course. According to his grandmother, they were the only wizarding family in North America worthy of association. They weren't part of the Sacred Society, but they were highly regarded and very wealthy. The Sangish conglomerate held a veritable stranglehold on the North American markets and significant sway over Latin America and the Pacific trade. If the Malfoys were the Tsars of the Old World, the Sangishes were the Emperors of the New World. Since the mid-eighteenth century, no trade was brokered in the Americas without a Sangish interest involved. However, they remained mum on the issue of blood purity and had not involved themselves in either of the Wizarding Wars. Money and resources had been allocated to certain  _ trusted _ friends, of course. That was simply doing business. 

“Draco,” she shifted subtly, “may I ask a potentially uncomfortable question?” 

“Yes,” he said, dropping a kiss on her long golden neck. 

Affection and trepidation rippled through her emotions in a pattern becoming increasingly familiar. She was an anxious sort. He would need to find ways to relax her. 

“Ah, well, okay. What is the elite society’s reaction to children outside of wedlock in the wizarding world?” 

“Oh,” he felt a slight tension in his jaw relax. “That doesn’t happen.” 

“Of course it happens. How could it not? Randy teenagers have been around forever. Moments of ill-advised passion have, as well.” 

“Yes, of course, which is why most wizarding families with any sort of history have an inheritance clause enchantment,” he played with a lock of her dark curls and wondered for the hundredth time what part of her heritage had given her such perfectly wild hair. “Did The Weasel,” her glare was a whip, “ahem --  _ Ronald _ ,” he attempted to unclench his teeth but still sounded strangled, “not tell you?” 

She turned in his arms, locking eyes with him. “Assume he was very... _ Ron _ about the situation. He meant well, but he usually either didn’t know or didn’t tell me about magical life.” There was a wistful look to her eyes that he loved and hated simultaneously. “He assumed I knew much more than I did.” 

“Easy mistake,” he buried his nose in her hair and inhaled, “you are an  _ insufferable  _ swot.” She swatted his arm. “But most wizarding families have a magical contract that binds familial ties via inheritance practices.”

“Well, the Weasleys wouldn’t have much to put in inheritance. Why would they have one?” 

“It’s about more than money, Lioness. It has to do with the familial bonds themselves. In every contract for hundreds of years, there is a particular clause that basically forbids procreation without specific permission from the head of the household from both parties.” He searched his memory for the appropriate wording. “Something about ‘sharing life and magic shall be sacrosanct and permissible only by mutual familial agreement’ or close to that.” 

“But…” she pursed her lips and thought lines appeared between her eyebrows, “That’s rather restrictive is it not?” 

“Yes.” He tilted his head back to look at the cornflower blue sky. “It is meant to be. It acts as a kind of contraceptive on all offspring of any family with a contract. That paired with magical resistance to disease,” he shrugged, “Let’s just say most of the Sacred have thorough and  _ very _ hands-on sex education.” 

“Wait,” her eyes flickered with thought, “Andromeda Tonks neé Black, she married a man her family didn’t approve of and still had a child.” 

“Well, two things there. One: Ted Tonks was a muggleborn wizard. He had no magical family ties and no family contract. Two: Andromeda was disowned. She is no longer recognized by any family spells, homes, or objects. She will never inherit or be recognized as a Black again. That also severs the contractual ties.” 

“But Sirius was disowned as well,” she leaned forward folding into her knees. “He inherited, and Harry after him.” 

Draco was quiet for a long moment. “Has Grimmauld Place been welcoming to Potter and his guests? Was it warm to Sirius before that?” She frowned and shook her head. “Were things missing, perhaps valuable things, when Sirius returned?” 

She huffed and tossed her hair, “Oh, of course, but Mundungus Fletcher nicked things to sell.” 

He curtailed a laugh. “Try to take a Malfoy family heirloom without my unequivocal permission at your own peril. My mother has a pair of earrings that deafened a distant relation when she tried them on for fun. Her hearing came back--eventually.” Hermione blanched a bit at that. “I’m sure Dung picked up odds and ins that were valuable but inconsequential.” 

“One of them certainly wasn’t inconsequential,” she paused and her eyes became distant. “Although I suppose Regulus removed one locket and replaced it with another that  _ wasn’t  _ a Black family heirloom.” He was a little lost, but she didn’t clarify. “But according to Ministry Law Harry does own Grimmauld Place, correct?” 

“Well, there is a disputed claim to Orion Black’s legacy insomuch as the contracts are concerned. On the one hand, Orion and Walburga died with one recognized heir who was deceased.”

“Regulus,” he nodded. 

“Their second son, Sirius, was disowned but never technically disinherited. This is a bit of a grey area because the spirit of the intent would end the line which the magic is loath to do. The letter of the law does not specify the protocol. On the other hand, there were two living Black descendants by Orion’s brother Cygnus, one of whom had a son. The magic remained unsettled, but Sirius laid claim and took up residence. After he died, the magic was reluctant to recognize a non-blood relation and became even more chaotic. When Bellatrix died, the magic settled somewhat because my mother and I decided to make no claim to the property. Eventually, the house will settle. Although I imagine more than a few valuables have made their way, by their own accord, to my vault or my mother’s.” 

She looked at him over her shoulder for a few moments. “That is the most ridiculous, convoluted system. Does Harry know?” 

He shrugged, resisting the urge to fold himself into her once again. “Most contracts are complex and mired in technicalities, even in the muggle world. No, he doesn’t. I didn’t want his sense of nobility to overwhelm him and force some Gryffindor act of idiocy. I have more than enough property. Potter certainly deserves to have a sanctuary, odd as it is.” 

“Can’t argue with either point,” she turned pensively to the window again. “What about Merope Gaunt?” 

“Who?” He tilted his head quizzically, catching the hesitation in her expression.

“Merope Gaunt. She was the mother of Tom Riddle,” she said matter of factly. Draco couldn’t keep the grimace from his face at the name. 

“The Gaunts died out. Most families did not include female offspring as heirs until the last fifty years, so women were exempted from both protection and limitation. The girls would have been expected to choose an appropriate bedmate, or face the consequences.” He shrugged. “The Blacks were rather progressive, as they were matriarchal from time to time.” 

“That’s incredibly sexist,” she rolled her eyes. 

“Are you surprised by that?” He laughed. 

“No,” she jabbed him with an elbow. “Of course the Malfoys have such a contract. Are women still excluded in  _ your _ contract?” 

“Yes, we have a contract with an inheritance enchantment, not that it would matter.” He ran his fingers down her arm. “And there is no mention of gender in our contract because the Malfoy line has been exclusively and singularly  _ male _ for more than a century.” 

“ _ Why _ wouldn’t it matter?” She craned her neck to look at him. 

He closed his eyes and shook his head. “It doesn’t matter because I don’t plan to produce an heir, male or otherwise.” He gripped his fingers into a fist. “I don’t plan to pass on any of it. The curses, the traditions, the feuds, the money, the prejudice, the dynasty, the Malfoys  _ and  _ the Blacks -- it all dies with me. At least as much as I can take with me.” 

She was quiet for a long time. Then she returned to her line of thought. “So, all that to say most wizards have a built-in magical contraception method. Asha and Brantley are not likely bastards unless the Sangish clan eschews this tradition.” 

“Correct,” he grimaced at the word ‘bastard’ which still had far uglier connotations in the wizarding world. “I know they have a contract. They have married into the Rosiers and the Prewetts in the past. There are records.” 

“So where does that leave us?” She turned her body to face him fully, tucking her legs beneath her and tipping her head into his chest. He loved it when she came to him when she sought his touch. 

“With a plethora of questions and a scarcity of answers,” he said, sinking a hand into her hair and rubbing her scalp lightly. She all but purred. 

Orestes landed on the windowsill with more grace than his sister. He was the smaller of the pair and his tawny feathers were tipped in black. The two tufts of feathers on either side of his head raised as he gave a wary warble twisting his elegant head to and fro. 

Draco laughed quietly, “Come now, boy, she isn’t going to cast any more spells on you this time.” 

The owl clacked his beak and flew into the room giving Hermione a wide berth and coming to rest on the arm of a chair just beside his master. Holding his impressive talon out steadily so that Draco could untie the message, he continued to stare at Hermione. He was clearly offended by her earlier barrage of protective and examination spells. 

“Oh for pity’s sake,” she rolled her eyes and stomped to the mantle to retrieve several pieces of a dried rat. “Orestes, would you please accept this peace offering. I promise I won’t ruffle your lovely little feathers unless absolutely necessary.” 

Orestes fluffed his feathers out and gave a loud  _ ooohoo,  _ flapping his wings toward her. Draco couldn’t help himself; he laughed. 

“Orie,” he smoothed the bird’s feathers with one hand. “She’s just trying to keep us safe. You want to keep me safe, right?” The owl turned his head and dipped it a couple of times as he danced back and forth on the chair. “Well then, be kind and take her peace offering.” He chirped in his odd owlish way before carefully taking a piece of a mouse from the witch’s outstretched hand. 

She continued to hold out her hand patiently. “He really is a magnificent animal, Draco. I’m sure he can be quite fierce, as well, if challenged.” Although she addressed him, the wizard knew she was really addressing Orestes. “He is a valuable part of your team, I see.” That was enough for Orie, who preened with pride and took two more pieces from her hand. He gave her a conspiratorial smile and opened the sealed letter. 

_ To the star and the lion who saved the lights of my life, heed my words. The illumination you seek is treacherous, but if seek it you must look to the sky at dawn where the sun shows its face. Toil not, tithe not until you have heard my words for they are fleeting.  _

_ Blessings be unto you,  _

_ Keeper of the Shadows  _

Hermione practically crawled into his lap to read the missive. She crowded his sight and filled his arms. He had never been happier to solve a puzzle. Her eagerness was contagious as it crept into his emotional center. 

“Toil and tithe not. She means we must come today. No matter for me. I’m the boss and lead a coalition of one. I could disappear for days.” That made his stomach turn slightly. Was there really no one who would miss her if she failed to show up for days? He quietly made a note to himself that she was far more isolated than he previously thought. 

“I owled this morning for a few personal days,” he wrapped an arm around her middle and moved her closer to his side. 

“Now we need to break the code. What does she mean by ‘ _ look to the sky at dawn where the sun shows its face’ _ ? Obviously something to the East.” 

“I know where we need to go,” he moved her aside and began gathering a few things. “It’s a code we used for refugees. That was the first thing Dumbledore tasked me with after...well after the Manor.” She blanched. They didn’t speak about that night at his family manor when his cover had been blown and they both nearly died. There was nothing more to be said. 

“I didn’t know,” he nodded and she rose. “So where are we going?” 

“To the East Gate of Bois Sacré, where my Aunt Celeste lives. She’s ‘the sky’ from the letter,” he pulled a jumper on and riffled through his closet looking for a spare she could wear. “I reached out to her and asked for her help during the war. As I said, she is one of the kindest people I have ever met. She sheltered many.” 

“Celeste,” she smiled slowly. “How perfect.” 

“You may not think so after you find out how we need to get there,” he tossed a dark green jumper at her. 

“I am  _ not _ getting on a broom, Malfoy.” She turned down her lips in a worried frown. He held her eyes for a long moment before she canted her chin away. “I am  _ not _ .” 

“Maybe one day I will change your mind, Lioness,” she lifted one eyebrow in doubtful challenge. “But not today. My cousin is a squib. One of her defense protocols is no magical transport. No floo, no brooms, no apparation. We can get to the hub at Huntington Station, but then we need to go the muggle way.” 

“The muggle way?” Her voice gave away her trepidation. 

“How do you feel about motorcycles, Miss Granger?” He tried not to laugh at her terrified expression. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. If you have a moment, review or kudos. it means the world!


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco and Hermione take a little trip. We meet a member of Draco's family, and we solve a little puzzle that doesn't have life and death consequences.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovely readers, 
> 
> I'm sorry this is later than I meant it to be. I'm very tired. Every new day brings new challenges to the hospital. I never know what to expect walking in, which is always the case to some extent. The hours are long and in some cases, waiting is the hardest part. However, writing makes life make sense again. So here is another chapter. Please leave a comment or a kudo if you can and you want to. I love knowing you are out there and still reading. 
> 
> Warm regards,
> 
> Age

As she stood in front of a vehicle that looked impossibly comical and dangerous at once, Hermione contemplated the merits of a broom. 

“It certainly looks… aerodynamic,” she shifted her feet, “and green.” 

Draco looked up at her from the other side of the deathtrap-masquerading-as-a-vehicle and raised one eyebrow with a perfect smirk. 

“Okay, fine, Draco, it looks  _ terrifying _ . I am extremely scared of that contraption. Please, tell me there is another way to get to the rendezvous.” She had closed her eyes at some point, but when she opened them, the wizard had spanned the distance between them. His grey eyes soft, he took her hand. 

“Hey,” he brushed her knuckles with a rough thumb, “there’s a place that hires cars about five minutes down the road. I’ll go rent a car and be back to get you in ten minutes. I shouldn’t have teased you earlier. It’s alright to have boundaries, Granger.” 

She melted into him, letting her guard down enough to show relief. Folding his arms about her, he smoothed circles into her back with his elegant hands. Encouraged by his steady hand, she found her will. 

“Thank you for offering that,” she said quietly. “Why don’t we compromise a little. I’m going to get on that... _ thing _ . You are going to drive me to the rental shop and you are going to do so  _ slowly _ .” He huffed a laugh but hummed agreement. “Then we will hire a car if I feel I can’t handle a ride of … how long?” 

“Twen…. Hmmm half an hour,” he squeezed her slightly and released her. “Are you sure?” 

She took a slow breath and released it counting to 7 in her head. “Yes, I can do this. I trust you.” 

Draco paused, hand on his shiny green and black helmet. His eyes flicked up to her and a fleeting smile raced across his face. “You might want this,” he held a black helmet toward her. “If you need to stop or you change your mind, just tap my leg twice. We won’t be able to hear each other well while we are moving.” 

She carefully navigated the straps of the helmet and tightened it appropriately, adding a few cushioning charms. Then she cautiously swung her leg over the seat of the motorcycle and wrapped her arms tentatively around the man in front of her, closing her eyes tightly. When the bike roared to life, it felt like a percussion bomb. Draco leaned forward and they moved. Blessedly, he was true to his word and kept the pace slow, adding velocity only as he felt her relax. She waved him past the car rental and soon grew accustomed to the wind tearing at her clothing in vain. When she eventually opened her eyes for longer than a momentary glance, they were racing along with the sea to their left and a perfect, cloudless sky above. She couldn’t exactly enjoy it, but she could appreciate it. 

Draco flexed and angled his body as they took curves and she allowed herself to be guided into the movement as well. Moving with him to a common purpose was a familiar path by now. His steadiness put her more at ease as they raced eastward. Ten years ago, if someone had told her Draco Malfoy would be her even hand on the keel, Hermione would have laughed or taken a swing. Nevertheless, here he was. No other person on earth could have talked her on to this motorcycle -- not even Harry. No one else could make her relax into this terrifying ride, trusting someone else’s skills. She sighed and pulled him tighter against herself. Sooner or later this was going to hurt very deeply. This feeling--this rush--was probably a temporary madness. It would fade. Even so, she couldn’t resist chasing the emotional high. 

Draco wove them through ever-narrowing roads in ever more exclusive communities until, at last, they found themselves on an apparently deserted road. A simple gate fashioned from wrought iron guarded the way. Hermione extracted herself from the motorcycle as soon as her partner cut the engine. She didn’t even wait for him to set the kickstand. Unfortunately, she wasn’t particularly steady on her feet, and so found herself clutching the infernal two-wheeled contraption for balance. 

She watched with ire as her companion lithely dismounted and removed his helmet. A bird that looked rather like a small molting vulture peered at them from the top of the gate, blinking its doleful eyes slowly. 

“An Augurey,” Hermione said, impressed. 

Draco glanced up and smiled. “Sofi,” he nodded at the bird. The Augurey squawked and took flight. “She’ll let Aunt Celeste know we are here.” 

“Aunt? I thought she was your cousin,” she watched him reach a hand around the gate and pull a spring which opened the latch. 

“She is. My grandmother’s sister’s daughter.” He shrugged. “She asked her refugees to call her Aunt or Auntie. That’s the name that stuck.” He pushed the bike through and left it behind the brick walls surrounding the gate. “It became another part of the code.”

Her memory sparked “ _ I should go visit my aunt...my aunt misses me.  _ Those were signals for extraction.” She looked at him and he nodded. 

“Simple and non-specific. Easy to work into a letter or a conversation. ‘ _ How’s your aunt _ ,’ worked as well.” He began striding down a well-manicured path. Trotting to catch the wizard with his long legs, Hermione slipped her hand into his. Uncharacteristically, Draco missed a dip in the path and stubbled. As she steadied him, he tightened his grip on her hand and pulled her further into his body. He kissed her with a familiarity that spoke of practice and a fire that spoke of want. When he pulled away moments after initiating, she was mildly dazed and pleasantly warm. 

“Sorry, darling, couldn’t be helped,” he ran his thumb down her neck and rested it on her clavicle. 

“Wouldn’t dare complain,” she sighed. 

“Well,  _ tarachopoiós _ , you come with some news I see,” an unfamiliar voice chimed in startling both witch and wizard. 

“Aunt Celeste,” Draco beamed at the older woman. He gently squeezed Hermione’s hand and released her to greet the new arrival. Hermione subtly studied the woman. She was small of stature but held herself with authority. Long silver-grey hair was swept into a long full braid that hung to the midpoint of her back. She was striking with high cheekbones and blue eyes that had not dimmed with the passage of time. Traces of smiles past had left lines around her mouth and eyes and her skin showed the classic marks of weather exposure. She was unmistakably lovely. 

Celeste held out her hands toward them as Draco stepped forward, kissing her cheeks three times in the European fashion. The woman patted his cheek with a strong boney hand. “The Little Black sheep comes back to the fold, eh?” She peered over his shoulder to Hermione, “and you bring a lion with you, hmm?” She clicked her tongue at him. “You did always like the dangerous ones, boy.” 

Hermione didn’t know how to interpret the woman’s words so she remained silent. 

“Celeste, may I introduce Hermione Granger,” he swept his arm toward her, “Liaison to the Ministry of Magic, champion of civil liberties, war heroine, and the cleverest person I’ve ever met.” 

Her brain malfunctioned on the torrent of compliments. She expected the grandiose words from others, but Draco had never presented her as such. It sounded almost honest coming from him. 

“Hermione, this is my cousin Celeste Rossier Callas, who is as wily and protective as she is kind.” She recovered her manners and stepped forward, presenting a hand. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Celeste,” the woman took her hand with surprising strength. “Callas? Eísai apó tin Hellas?” 

The woman gave a slow smile, “Óchi, o sýzygós mou ítan. Ézisa sti Náxo gia pollá chrónia.” Celeste tilted her head, “Was it Callas that gave it away?” 

Hermione shrugged gesturing toward the bird, “ _ Sofi _ ,” then toward Draco, “ _ tarachopoiós,”  _ and then to her, “ _ Callas _ . One is a fluke. Two is a coincidence. Three is a pattern.” 

Draco looked between them confused. “What?” 

“You did not mention your girlfriend spoke Greek, dear boy.” Celeste patted Draco on the face and looped her arm through Hermione’s own arm and they set off in perfect step. The wizard didn’t move for about thirty seconds. 

“What?” He finally sputtered. 

“I underestimated your taste, dear.” His cousin cast a glance once over her shoulder. “Well come along.” 

She heard him stumble to do her bidding. “Uhhh… I didn’t know she spoke Greek, and I’m not sure she would want me to call her my girlfriend.” He stumbled over the title. 

Hermione felt irrepressible happiness at his words. Without looking back she said, “I wouldn’t complain if you referred to me as such.” 

“You...you wouldn’t?” There was a happy tension in his voice. 

“Not at all,” she smiled, still not turning her head. There was a hurried crunch of gravel followed by the warm press of his hand against hers. “And, yes, I speak Greek. My mother is from a town just outside of Athens. She still has property there, I think.” 

“How lovely,” Celeste began as they rounded the wild hedge that had shielded the house from view. Hermione lost the thread of the conversation as she absorbed the view. The house was in the French Chateau style, sprawling and open in well-maintained shades of white and grey. Large windows gleamed at her reflecting the green of the Italianate gardens that stretched toward them. The centerpiece of the garden was a winding hedge maze. Mazes had always disquieted her since her fourth year at Hogwarts, but she had to admit that this one was lovely. They were standing on a slight rise and the twists and turns of the maze were visible for several layers in. 

She suddenly realized the conversation and forward momentum had stopped and both Draco and Celeste were looking at her expectantly. 

“I’m terribly sorry, but I seem to have been distracted.” She motioned toward the house. “It’s so lovely, Celeste.” 

“Thank you,” she said, sounding genuinely pleased. “It’s a point of pride. Now, my guest is in the center of the maze. I trust you remember the trick, dear? Just follow the stars.” She turned to Draco who nodded tersely. She smiled squeezing Hermione’s arm, “Come for tea afterward, if you’ve time. I want to know you better.” 

Then with a smile and a nod, the woman stepped down a side path with a grace that belied her age. Hermione decided she liked the woman. 

When she turned back to Draco to tell him so, she was arrested by the expression of concern on his face.

“Did you mean that,” he asked. She looked at him questioningly. “Did you mean this?” He squeezed her hand gently. 

“Are you asking if I’m alright with the title of girlfriend,” she asked, trying to clarify. 

“Not the title so much as the position -- the sentiment,” he shifted his weight from foot to foot staring at their joined hands. 

“I find the term  _ girlfriend  _ to be utterly ridiculous, but the sentiment is true enough for me,” she lifted her shoulders slightly, unsure how to proceed. “I’ve told you I want…” she steadied herself around the words that came so unnaturally to her, “I want to be in a relationship with you.” 

“Technically, you said ‘Not  _ not _ a relationship’ but the point stands,” he said with a smirk although he still did not make eye contact with her. 

“I would like the arrangement to be exclusive unless there is some reason for a mutually agreed-upon exception,” his eyes darted up to hers while the tips of his ears turned a vivid shade of red. 

“Erm, I don’t want anyone but you,” he gaped for a moment. “I would be the luckiest idiot in the world if you… if you continue to allow me even this much.” 

“Good,” she grinned, tugging him forward. “I’m not of a mind to share.” 

They came to the first split and Hermione examined the decorative fountain. Finally, she huffed and nodded at her blonde wizard. “It has nothing to do with the fountain, does it?”

He shook his head with a small smile. Hermione craned her head this way and that. Then a small statue behind her caught her eye. A hydra stretched its many heads at impossible angles--all eyes pointing left. So left she went and Draco followed wordlessly. At the next fork, Heracles snarled at the Erymanthian Boar with his sword pointing right. Cassiopeia pointed them right again, Cygus craned her head left, and finally, Perseus lifted the head of Medusa to the left while keeping his eyes firmly to the right. After a moment, she chose right. 

“As clever as advertised, darling,” Draco said in his teasing baritone. 

They rounded the last hedge to find a small rose garden with a gazebo in the center. Geraldine Watt sat in the shade of the structure clutching a steaming mug. She was folded in on herself in such a way that Hermione thought she looked half her usual size. Her hair was braided and clean and she wore a bare minimum makeup. She wasn’t as devastated as she had been at the hospital, but she was tense and tired. 

“Gerry?” Hermione called out gently. Pale eyes snapped to her then darted to Draco. 

“Oh, I… was somewhere else entirely,” she shook herself. “Come and sit. We have much to discuss.”

And so they did. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few notes:  
\- Hermione asks Celeste if she is from Greece. She replies she is not but her husband was and she lived there for many years.  
\- Sofi - Wise one  
\- tarachopoiós - trouble-maker  
\- Each of the statues in the maze has a corresponding constellation. Thus, Hermione is following the stars. Draco knows she enjoys figuring it out, so he doesn't help. 
> 
> Thank you as always for reading. It always makes my week to hear from you all. Stay safe out there, and wash your hands. Often.


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we get Gerry's backstory

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovely people, 
> 
> I must apologize for my long absence. It has been a hard couple of months for everyone. I had very little downtime. It was emotionally draining. I didn't feel much like writing for a while. But I finally found the will. I hope you enjoy it. Next chapter we get back to some good old fashioned H & D interaction. Hope you and yours are well. Stay safe. 
> 
> -Age
> 
> Also, JK is responsible for her own s*&t. Most of this is mine.

The sun played hide and seek with the clouds as Draco watched the two witches sitting in front of him. He was not sitting, preferring to serve as a sentry. There had been extended silence since Hermione took over the bench nearest the woman. Fingers with ragged nails and chipped polish gripped a large mug of coffee as Geraldine searched for words. He racked his brain for recognition but found none. She had known him on sight at the hospital. That wouldn’t be overly shocking in London, but here he was relatively anonymous. Money bought many beautiful things, and none quite so valuable as privacy. There were no vaults deep enough to pay off the press in the direct aftermath of the war. However, the newspapers in the US and Canada had been comparatively less interested. He very much doubted she had seen a picture on page 4 of  _ The Daily Ghost _ six years ago and committed it to memory. He could only conclude that she had been part of New York high society at some point. 

“You can stop your study of me, Lord Malfoy,” Gerry said with a snap. “I was only ever in your periphery. I should never have drawn such noble eyes as yours.” She fidgeted with her chain necklace and bowed her head. “I wish I had never drawn Elias’ attention.” 

“Gerry,” Hermione began, “are you and the children alright? Do you have somewhere to go?” She laid a gentle hand on the other woman’s arm. “I assume you are running if you are here.” 

Her eyes cut to Hermione and a tear streaks down her cheek. “Thanks to you,” she glanced warily at Draco, “both of you, they are recovering. Yes, I’m leaving. I have connections in Galway and enough money to set us up well.” 

“Alright,” his witch squeezed the blond woman’s hand. “Tell me if I can smooth your way. I’ll reach out to my contacts.” Hermione set her jaw and Draco knew she was about to press for information. “Gerry, I know this is likely uncomfortable for you, but anything you can tell us could help us stop this from happening again.” 

I watched the unfamiliar woman draw a breath and nod her head. “Yes, I know, but knowing some of these things could be dangerous for you, hon.” 

The corners of Draco’s mouth twitched hearing the Golden Lioness called ‘hon’. Yet, it was obviously a term she used often. “We are familiar with danger, Ms. Watt.” He tipped his head toward Hermione. “Neither of us has any hesitation if this will save lives.” 

Those watery blue eyes connected with his and she lifted her chin in assent. In his periphery, he saw Hermione smile. He felt a spark of pride he had dismissed as dead. 

“I… I am not a half-blood as I told you,” she glanced at Hermione. “My parents were both magical. We weren’t exactly purebloods, but we were  _ respectable _ ,” she huffed a laugh. “We were a big deal in a little town in Oklahoma. But I had society dreams -- New York dreams.” 

She shifted her legs, moving her gaze to the flower garden. 

“My father allowed me to attend my first society season when I was 17. I stayed with family friends. It was the most exciting thing I had ever done. Mother did not approve of Ilvermorny, but was unwilling to cede me to Boubatton or Hogwarts. My world was,” a look passed over her face somewhere between longing and anger, “small. Tutors, neighbors, and a small contingent of suitable peers was the whole of my existence. Mother allowed me the society pages daily and I would dream about wearing a gown like Emelia Rappaport and dancing with Samuel Barebones while Countess Ellie’s Six Pence Orchestra played ‘The Witch Who Stole the World’.” She smiled and waved her wand creating a distant version of the song echo through the hedges around them. “I thought I was destined for the high life.” 

“I drank etiquette lessons like water. I learned every dance ever mentioned in _The_ _Gossiping Goblin_.” She closed her eyes, twisting the pendent on her dangling necklace as her feet moved in memory. “My mother was very pleased, but my father would have kept me cloistered and ignorant of society… and safe.” She sighed in a short puff. “I wish I had understood then. I was a bit of a brat to him.” 

She shifted her gaze to Draco briefly. “I also learned every name and face I could manage. “You and your family summered here once. You couldn’t have been more than ten. Lord and Lady Malfoy were the prized guests of the social season. You favor her when you smile.” 

“I was eight and fascinated by cowboys,” he nodded. “I remember that.” He was rarely compared to his mother. He enjoyed the link. “Of course, they often attended the Samhain Ball.”

“What member of the upper echelon doesn’t?” She flashed her white smile. “No one does Halloween like Americans.” She shook herself, “I digress. I convinced my parents to allow me to attend the season and threw myself into preparations for the first ball. I am an only child, you see. My mother denied me nothing for the event. When I stepped through the Floo into The Sangish Mansion, I was a perfect picture of my own imagining.”

Draco frowned, seeing the problem. No ball gown or etiquette lesson in the world could buy entry into the selective group at the top of the social ladder. You were born into it. 

“I believed I would be the diamond in the crown of a glorious evening. And I was for a while. My mother and father had made appropriate introductions on my behalf. I always had a dance partner. But never anyone I saw in the papers. The band was wonderful, but it wasn’t a full orchestra.” She scoffed. “I sound like the spoiled child I was.”

“I excused myself to the balcony for some air. That’s where I heard them talking. The girls on the higher floor at the window.” Her voice took on a higher mocking tone. “ _ Oh, Emmy, why must we come to such a common ball. Shouldn’t we be saving our energy for the real thing?” _

“They went on like that, tittering at “second ranks” and arranging us into advantageous matches. Who would be appropriate for office work and distracting husbands. Who was better kept in the marriage market.” She took a deep breath and focused on Hermione. “I… I was a bit crushed. I had been under the impression that I mattered. I didn’t even rank a mention.” I tear slid down her high cheek. “I know it’s an idiotic and shallow, Mia. Still it’s been well over a decade and it stings the same.” 

“No one forgets the first time expectations get shattered,” Hermione said, placing a hand on Gerry’s. “I’m surprised you got to that age without that experience. I was twelve.” 

Draco clenched his fists and turned his face away. He had done that to the woman he loved. 

“Yes, well,” she bowed her head with a laugh. “I ran up the stairs and into a small library, promptly crying my eyes out. When I finally pulled myself together, I prepared to reenter the party. Before I could, Elias Sangish himself opened the door and stepped in.” 

I saw her blush. “He wasn’t dressed for the party. He must have been looking for a book or,” she shook her head. “You know, I never asked him why he was there. He just walked in and took over. He was so easy and confident. I think I was half in love with him before I left that room.

“I thought he might call for me or write, but he didn’t. I became increasingly disenchanted with the whole of high society. Meanwhile, I was falling in love with the muggle city. It was exciting and intoxicating. My caretakers thought nothing of letting me explore the muggle side, as I had enough magic and money to get myself out of trouble. I started writing for a small magazine. I love to write. It has always been an outlet for me. You know how good I am with numbers. I fell in naturally with the financial prospecting columns. A little gossip, a little knowledge, a word dropped at the right time -- it didn’t take long for me to excel. 

“For the first time in my life, I thought perhaps the nomag and progressive wizards might be right. A career could be fulfilling. I wanted to get up and go to work. I lived for the deadlines and the breaks and the midnight oil. 

“I wrote to my parents and declined to return home after the season was over. My mother was devastated. My father… was oddly supportive. He quietly redirected my mother and set me up with an apartment. Once, when I was visiting for the holidays, I found a box in his study with stacks of papers with my columns. My father wasn’t a talkative man, but I got the impression he was proud of me.” Her smile was shaded with sadness. Draco tasted dark chocolate which was sometimes how emotions came through when he was shielding himself. Sweet bitterness. 

“I met Jeremiah my second year at the paper. They brought him on as a new editor, and he immediately scalded my cauldron. He was incredibly picky and pushy. Of course, I won a Loeb after his first year because I refused to back down from his incessant nitpicking. He took me out for drinks to congratulate me. I argued with him all through dinner and the taxi ride home. Then I took him upstairs with me and that was that. We were married with my father’s blessing a year later. Asha came the next year a few weeks before my father died. I named her for him -- Ashford - Asha My mother blamed me for my father’s early death. We never spoke again.” 

Hermione squeezed the woman’s hand, humming in sympathy. Draco caught a hint of empathetic pain from her and wondered if she was thinking of her own parents. His own sadness rolled to meet hers and she glanced over at him. Did she feel that? She shouldn’t have with his emotional occlumency in place. He pondered the meaning of that, while he listened. 

“I happened to run into Elias’ brother, Corvus Sangish at a minor social event not long after Asha’s first birthday. He was always cold to me, but he seemed to warm upon re-introduction. He offered me a position at one of the magical papers, but I turned him down. Jeremiah and I were an open secret. It isn’t forbidden to intermarry with non-magical folk anymore, but it certainly isn’t well thought of. I had no plans to re-integrate into our society. But then,” Gerry paused, her mouth flattening to a thin white line, “Jeremiah died. It was an accident. I need to believe it was.” 

It probably wasn’t. Draco would never contrary her, but the timing was working out quite conveniently. 

“I fell apart. I had so little support and a young baby. Mr. Sangish and Corvus saw to it that I was cared for. They even sent Elias over personally. That’s how we got reacquainted. He was still a charming devil no doubt, but he’d grown up over the years. Eventually, he asked to take me out. I declined the first several times, but eventually loneliness and nostalgia won out. We dated for a few months before the Samhain Ball. He wanted to take me to it and introduce me to society as his new partner. I wasn’t thrilled but conceded to his badgering. The last thing I remember in detail about that night was an extreme amount of drinking. My goblet never seemed to empty and he would tease me about my slow progress. Things blurred and faded before we got to the ballroom."

She shivered with remembered emotion. The barebones of which tasted like fear tinged with excitement. "There are flashes - laughter and grey satin, a kiss, a hand on my hip, dry leaves in the wind, clattering bones. And I felt…" a deep flush of color, "I felt good. So good for the first time since Jeremiah died. I let myself drown in it."

She stilled, holding her breath before a slow exhale. "I was ashamed afterward. I wouldn’t see Elias, even though he begged. I remember his dark hair carding through my fingers like silk and eyes like jade." 

Draco quirked an eyebrow brow subtly, filing that tidbit away. 

"Brantley came along in 9 months. I wanted to leave New York, but he is...was bound to the city somehow. Whatever you did to the curse broke the binding as well. I'm getting my children as far from here as possible. I've seen how ruthless they can be over the years. All the money on Wall Street couldn't convince me to yield Brantley to their tender care."

"Is that what Elias wants? For you to give up Brantley?" Hermione's voice was gentle and her words soft. 

"Yes. Elias found me a couple of years later. It was already fairly obvious Brantley was his son. I refused. It didn’t go well. I mysteriously lost my job. My landlord  _ sold _ my apartment with almost no warning. Doors were suddenly shut in my face. I knew he was trying to drive me back to his door. I chose to disappear instead. I remade myself. I changed my name and my career. I slipped into a Ministry position where I knew he wouldn’t come looking. I thought it worked. It had been years.” 

“But then we found the curse on the children and you knew he found you,” Hermione spoke for her. 

“And here I am. We are getting as far from them as we can.” 

“Gerry, what was your name before?” Draco watched his witch run her hand comfortingly over the blond woman’s arm. 

“Genevieve Watson, my maiden name is Denoir,” she hesitated on the name like it was an old wound. She looked up at the sun. “I need to go now, Mia. If...if you need you can write to me by owl under Gerry Denoir. Nothing else will find me.” She rose and hugged Hermione and nodded respectfully at Draco. Then she walked to the only apparition point in the maze -- directly in it’s center -- and disappeared with a pop. 

After a long silence, Hermione crossed her arms and threw her head back on the ring of finely carved wood that served as the railing for the gazebo. “Well, that answers a few questions, but opens a whole new book.” 

“As with anything in society life, dramatics are expected. Why would Corvus Sangish draw her back into society and throw his brother into her path?” 

“What happened at Samhain? Why is her memory so patchy? She played it off as drink, but I think that’s only partially true.” 

“And why did she mention green eyes when Elias’ eyes are most definitely brown?” 

Hermione looked at him with surprise. “Why indeed.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews and kudos are always appreciated.


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Draco and Hermione do some research, have a talk, and receive an unexpected guest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovely readers,
> 
> My life has been a little chaotic. I'm sorry this took so long.

Hermione allowed her instinctual understanding of the subtleties of Draco’s shifting body to guide her throughout the ridiculously perilous return trip while her brain spun the span of new information. Gerry’s story opened as many questions as it answered. Worse, she was certain there was an underlying plot that they had only glimpsed. It didn’t feel like they were missing pieces to a puzzle. It felt like they were missing several vital chapters from a highly technical book. At least it made the anxiety of riding on the motorcycle a distant thought. In fact, the motorcycle now ranked third on her  _ List of Things Currently Distressing One Hermione Granger; Primacy Level A, List Active _ . The second was her impromptu admission to Draco that she wanted a relationship -- wanted exclusivity. That was an extravagantly vulnerable thing for her to admit. It was a true thing, but that didn’t make it feel less vulnerable. 

She could read Draco’s preoccupation in the way he was currently driving the death-machine they sat astride together. He pushed the speed and maneuvered through the heavier traffic, lacking the care he had taken earlier in the day. He was also closed from her emotionally, his empathic aura sealed behind his walls in a way it hadn’t been since he admitted to her what he was. There were certain points in the conversation with Gerry she had felt a flash of emotion from him, but nothing since. It was like losing sight of a lighthouse you had been using to guide you to shore. 

All of that had to be pushed aside in favor of The Case. She had begun assigning the capital letters yesterday. The narrative stitching itself together was an ugly one. No matter what the whole story was, wealthy and powerful people were caught up in it. Vulnerable people were being crushed by it. The dark secrets were thick around this one. 

By the time they came to a sudden halt at the garage near the apparition point, Hermione was in knots. Draco’s silence didn’t help. The easy curve of his mouth was pinned into a thin, flat line as he locked the motorcycle down. 

She turned away from him clutching her fist until her blunted fingernails dug into her palms sharply enough to pull her brain back to present. He needed space and perhaps so did she. There was much information to sort through. Draco was a useful sounding board but not entirely necessary. He would likely be more a distraction than a help. She was accustomed to doing things on her own, no matter how nice it had been to feel like part of a team again. 

Then the tall wizard wound a gentle arm around her shoulders and pulled her against him with a tiny tug. She felt the barest shiver of the storm behind the walls of his gray eyes. “Would you…” he paused, letting out a strained huff. “May I stay with you tonight? I think I need someone with me. I’d rather it be you.” 

She blinked, struck dumb momentarily. He had never once imposed himself, always waiting for her permission, always allowing her the space to choose. Even now with this request, he gave her easy right to refuse. A small tension between her shoulders released, and she leaned into his embrace. The corners of her mouth lifted and she replied, “There you see, give a man a silly title and it goes straight to his head.”

“Oh,” he pulled his arms back toward himself. “I didn’t mean to…,” she caught his arms before they released her.

“I’m only teasing you, Draco.” Running her hand along his arm until she reached his fingers, entwining them with her own. “Your place or mine?” 

“It doesn’t matter all that much to me,” he said with evident relief. “I’m likely not going to sleep much or sleep well.” 

“Then we will go to mine. I have the superior telly.” She shook her head running her fingers through the curls to revive them. Helmets were another point against motorbikes. She glanced around, finding the garage empty. “I think we are close enough to the apparition point don’t you?”

“Such a rule-breaker, Hermione. I thought Slytherins were the ones who believe that rules don’t apply to us.” She laughed and turned in his arms. 

“You got less than half of that, you know,” she looked up into his face and found a slight smile. “Ravenclaws make the rules that Hufflepuffs follow, Slytherins believe the rules don’t apply, and Gryffindors... “ Grey eyes were transfixed on her mouth, she pulled him closer, “Gryffindors are the reason we have the rules in the first place.” She apparated them to her front stoop. It wasn’t technically within the purview of law to directly apparate outside of any private property, but she was tired and she was Hermione bloody Granger. MACUSA could fine her if they wished. 

Once inside, the pair busied themselves with little nothings. A couple of letters were sent. Hermione scribbled a document she needed to finish before week’s end, despite her earlier insistence that it could wait. Draco searched both his library and hers for information on the Traitor’s Mark and the Sangish Dynasty, ducking back and forth through the fireplace with distracted casualness. They ordered takeout curry from Hermione’s favorite shop which ran from a minuscule storefront two blocks away. 

While the wizard fetched the food, Hermione devoured his notes on the subject, cross-checking a few things and adding notes in the margins. She was impressed with his attention to detail. He had included no less than six varying castings with detailed lists of needed components and effects of alterations to the casting order, time of day, season of the year, and phase of the moon. There was a list of the known incidents of the Traitor’s Mark being deployed on a significant level, including a subset of wayfaring Caribbean magicians who used an altered version as an exceptionally barbaric fidelity clause in marriage contracts and a rather odd little tale of a man using it to protect his favored pet hen from meddling neighborhood children. In that particular case, the children came down with a nasty case of the hiccoughs which sounded remarkably like a chicken clucking. 

Draco walked through the door with his hands full and a brown paper bag wedged between his teeth. “Mime, eh mimm…”

She jumped up with a laugh, relieving him of the bag in his mouth and one from his hand. “You are in a state, aren't you?” 

“Well, if you hadn’t ordered both the Rogan Josh  _ and  _ the Tikka Masala, I would not have needed to resort to desperation to open the door, witch!” He bent and kissed her smile. 

“You ate half of my Tikka Masala last time. I needed to be prepared for the worst.” She bumped him with her hip nudging him to follow her. “My sincere compliments on the research, I only made a few notes which is an accomplishment none of my previous research assistants nor study partners ever managed.” 

He gave her a haughty scoff. “First, you had terrible study partners. I’d have called them charity cases. Potter was at least trying, but you were never going anywhere with  _ Weasley _ . Honestly, how did you avoid defenestration with that one?” She rolled her eyes and shook her head. “Second, you  _ do _ remember that I was second to you in most classes, right? Damn near took your high mark record in Potions.” 

Hermione watched his body practically bounce around her kitchen, quick hands complimenting her own movements. The table was set with shocking familiarity. “To be honest, Draco, I never paid any mind to the rankings.” She gave him a fiendish smile, “Rankings are really meant to give the rest of you something toward which to strive. It never does any good to look behind you.” He choked on his drink with a sputter. 

“Are you trying to wound my very spirit, witch?” He placed a hand over his torso and grimaced as though a wound had appeared. “If so, your aim is impeccable. Shall we go back to the bit where you were praising me? Something to do with good research...” 

As they dug into the food, they parried ideas. Once the basic parameters of the spell were confirmed, they began a pattern of role play. One would set up a scenario, the other would find the weak points. They continued to debate as they tidied up in tandem and moved to the sitting room, settling in front of her hearth. Another hour later, she had argued another of his theories to a standstill when silence descended. She glanced up at him from her position curled on the sofa. She had been so lost in her argument she hadn’t noticed when he stopped offering resistance. 

He was leaning forward, head canted in her direction with a wistful look painting his face in the firelight. It was a good look for him and she felt a bit of heat settle into her lower stomach. “What is it, Draco?” 

“Nothing, I just…” he shook his head, retreating from the subject. “We can be relatively sure these components were needed,” he gestured to the list they’d debated about an hour ago and agreed upon, “and that a touch exchange was likely not enough to affect this kind of damage.” 

She nodded, “Likely needed bodily fluid, sweat at the very least. Anything less would not have been strong enough to take magic or affect health.” 

He continued, “We also know that the consequences of the Traitor’s Mark are quite flexible depending upon the caster’s will.” 

“And the trigger is arbitrary and dependent on the caster as well,” she interjected. 

“It needed to be done between the new moon and the waxing first quarter phase,” he said, absently sketching a crescent moon on the paper in front of him. 

Hermione sighed in frustration. “At least we are further along than we were, but there are so many more questions.” She sat up and rolled her shoulders to ease the ache there. “Green eyes. I keep coming back to that. Why did she say that?” 

“What did Corvus have to do with this?” He moved behind her and placed a large hand on her shoulder, kneading with his thumb. She felt the tension bleed out with the warmth of his hand. Her head lolled a bit and she felt her eyes droop. 

“Let’s go to bed,” she yawned. He tensed behind her.

“I...I don’t think I can sleep,” he said. His gentle baritone chipped the edges of her heart. 

“Then come have a cuddle. We can talk.” She rose and walked toward the bedroom. After a few moments, she heard him move as well. She continued about her nightly rituals, washing her face and braiding her hair before changing into an over-large t-shirt. 

As she returned to the bedroom, she heard the strains of “A Case of You” by drifting from her small speakers on the bedside table. Joni Mitchell's voice cut the quiet. Draco was stretched across the bed lengthwise, eyes closed. He looked relaxed, wearing only soft pants. So much so that she jumped slightly when he spoke. 

“What is it that you see when you can’t sleep?” His eyes were still closed but she saw the tension around his mouth. 

Her heart skipped several beats before she found her voice. “I don’t generally talk about it, but I think maybe I can with you.” Sitting on the edge of the bed she ran her hands down her bare legs to anchor herself in the present. 

“Most of the time I see the ones I couldn’t save. I know you saw the vision from the Vessel. That was more coherent than what I usually see. I think it’s worse when I can only see the eyes. Sometimes I relive the first time my mother didn’t recognize me. Sometimes I relive battles. Hogwarts has a smell…” she shifted, avoiding the words. 

“It smells like burning hair and…” he didn’t complete it either. It's a raw whole were friends once stood. 

“Yes. I relive the Manor as well, though less so,” she said quietly. “I’m sorry we couldn’t save him, Draco.” 

His grey eyes flashed for a moment. “He didn’t want to be saved, love. Nothing to be done for it.” 

“It doesn’t mean I’m not sorry for it,” she debated ending there but decided to share the rest. “On the worst nights, I relive what happened to Lavender Brown. I had a rather personal view of that with no way to stop it.” 

He turned his head to watch her and she mirrored him. “Greyback?” She nodded. Closing her eyes but leaving her face toward him. His hand swept along her cheek, though there were no tears there. She had shed enough and worked through those tangled emotions. 

After a long silence, he spoke again. “I relive the battles, too. I see the ones that didn’t evacuate in time. I smell the rot in my family home. I see my father’s body. I feel the Dark Lord slither through my brain. I experience the fear of escape and the constant knowledge that death would be better than recapture. Once I was extracting a family. There were a husband and wife with three children, not yet Hogwarts age and their grandfather. I left them at a safe-house for a day while I finished arrangements. When I returned the grandfather was strapped to a chair with…” he stopped with a stutter. “It was bad. The rest of the family had sheltered in the safe room, but I miscalculated the size. The grandfather chose to protect his family. I see him a lot. I see what I did to the man who killed him, too.” He withdrew his hand and she reopened her eyes. He was facing her ceiling again. “On my worst nights, Hermione, on  _ my  _ worst nights, I’m the one behind the wand. It could have been that way so easily. You need to know that, Lioness. You need to know that kind of darkness is within me before you go any farther down this path with me. Whatever it is.” 

She studied him as the song shifted and a David Gray song began. On impulse, she pushed up from the bed and grabbed his hand pulling him with her. She wound her hands around his neck and he caught on, wrapping his arms around her back. He swayed with her and she noted he moved with his whole body, not shuffling like many men. 

“Draco, why did you shut me out?” She stared into his pretty eyes, holding them fast. 

“I didn’t know I let you in that far,” he admitted. “It’s a safety reflex. I don’t want you to be affected by nightmares or my anxiety. That and… I didn’t want you to feel pushed by my emotions. So I shut everything down. It will likely take a while to open back up again. I’ll protect you better next time.” 

The singer crooned about hope and loss and love. 

“But shutting down cuts you off from me, right?” He nodded. She took a deep breath and blew it out. “I am going to try to tell you how I’m feeling, and I’m going to be horrible at it.” 

“You don’t have to,” he began. 

“I know, but I want to,” she pressed her face against his bare chest. “I’m not afraid of your darkness. Perhaps I should be, but I can’t find it in me to fear something I also have within me. And don’t tell me I don’t. I  _ am  _ afraid because this feels very real and very important to me. I have spent many years avoiding this kind of thing. I am best on my own, Draco. I am complicated enough without adding an entire  _ person _ to the mix. I work too much; my interpersonal skills leave much to be desired; I’m picky and set in my ways; sometimes I don’t know who I am anymore without my  _ Golden Girl _ title, sometimes I hate everything to do with that title; some days I hate myself. However, I like the way I feel with you. I like your wit and cleverness. When you take me to bed, you are so good I forget myself entirely. I like the way you fight. You make me want to risk it all again. I don’t want you to protect me. I want you to let me in, but only if you understand the implications of that.”

He moved his hands slowly up her body as she slowed near the end of her rambling monologue. They came to rest softly on either side of her neck, guiding her gaze upward to clear grey eyes. His thumbs traced the outline of her jaw. “My mother told me once that loving someone was like letting them point a wand at your heart and trusting them not to cast. I think, for her, it was.” He trailed his thumb across her bottom lip. “Maybe there is that risky element to it, but I don’t want that kind of love.” She stilled, lost in his touch. “I want someone who I trust to stand at my back in battle. I want someone who will plot with me and call me on my shit, who sees my past as what shaped me, but not what defines me. I thought maybe that person didn’t exist until you walked into my life again. Now I don’t want it to be anyone but you.” 

Her smile felt too large for her face as she leveraged her hold to guide him toward the bed. “I can be counted upon to ‘ _ call you on your shit _ ’, but that doesn’t make you special.” She pushed him down. “I point out everyone's’ short-comings,” she watched his irises shrink as she straddled his hips. 

“Mmmhmm,” he smiled distractedly. “And you let everyone do this,” his left hand found her breast as his right palm pressed her sex, “I suppose?” 

“Merlin’s teeth, Draco,” her body lit like a bonfire soaked in petrol. “Touch me, please.” She ripped at her shirt, shedding the thin barrier. 

“You don’t know what it does to me to hear you say that,” he said complying with her request. 

Then the broom leaning against the bedroom door fell with a distinctive  _ snit-clack _ .

Both parties froze. He glanced at her and she nodded confirming his suspicions. 

“Company’s coming.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed it. Leave comments and kudos if you care to. I love hearing from you!


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a visitor shares some information.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the inexcusably long delay. My personal and professional life decided to drop chaos bunnies at the same time. I was not very good at handling them. I hope you enjoy it. Kudos and comments are always appreciated.

Draco stared at the fallen broom and contemplated an impromptu fire with kindling provided by the offending object. It wasn't the pitiful little thing's fault, but he had been enjoying himself immensely before it had interrupted them. 

Hermione lept from the bed, grabbing her shirt, and waved her hand over the clock on the wall. The small coo-coo clock clanged and the carved figurines rotated to a forest scene with a stag. 

“Oh,” the small witch’s demeanor changed immediately. A bright smile split her lovely face, and she quickly pulled her oversized t-shirt over her head. He watched her bound out of the bedroom and began gathering up his will. There was only one person this could be, and Draco didn’t know how The Ministry’s Head Auror would react to the current situation. He contemplated staying in bed and just hoping Hermione would let him hide. He wondered if she would let him sneak away through the floo. He thought she might prefer it. 

Nevertheless, he heaved himself from the bed and fumbled in one of Hermione’s dresser drawers until he found another shirt that was oversized for her, but more-or-less his size. He shuffled into the kitchen where the witch was putting on a kettle. “Should I go, Lioness?” 

She looked up at him quizzically. “What?” She said, “Why would you go? It’s just…”

The knock came, and she hurried past him to the door, swinging it open wide. “Harry!” 

Harry Potter stepped through the door. He was not particularly tall, but he held himself with a confident authority he had frequently lacked in his Hogwarts days. He wore his hair long and tied it into a knot at the base of his neck. It served well to conceal his lightning bolt scar. The boy wonder sported a dark, well-trimmed beard, and a pink scar was healing on his left cheek. His distinctive glasses remained, framing his unmistakable green eyes. 

The modern Saint of the Wizarding World let out a soft ‘oof’ as all five and a half feet of brunette hit him, wrapping her arms around him. 

“‘Mione,” returning her embrace with a laugh, “it’s been  _ ages _ . You never visit!”

“Portkeys work both ways, fancy man,” she pushed back and tugged a loose tendril of his black hair. 

Draco felt a twinge of something in his gut. That familiar, familial bond that seemed to come so casually for others was ever-present with these two. It was like watching someone savor a gourmet meal while subsisting on fast-food. He missed Iris and Tristan and regretted that he couldn’t share large parts of his life. Trust was the backbone upon which people built relationships, and he couldn’t ask that from them. For a long while, he believed he couldn’t ask for trust from anyone. Yet, Albus Dumbledore had trusted him, in so much as he trusted anyone. Theo and Blaise had trusted him. Hermione had put her fate in his hands several times at this point, and even though their relationship was new and fragile, she seemed to put her feelings in the same place willingly. He could take whatever barbs came his way for the chance at that kind of happiness. 

As if to test his resolve, Harry’s green eyes found him at that moment. He felt the momentary scrutiny of an experienced Auror and braced for the inevitable recognition. 

“You were right about his hair,” the other wizard said in a stage whisper. “It does make him look less like a prat. Still fairly pointy, though.” 

Draco had an immediate failure to integrate with this new information. She had told her best friend about him -- about  _ them _ . He heard himself make a very undignified noise as he ran his left hand through his mussed hair. 

“Oh dear,” curls bounced as Hermione looked over her shoulder at him. “I may have left him ill-prepared for this situation.” She patted Harry’s chest, and he released her to bound toward Draco, who was trying to form coherent sentences. “I’m sorry I neglected to tell you, but I owled Harry about the Wendigo to ask a few questions. He has been in correspondence with Hagrid and a few others to inquire about the possible nature of the beast.” She grabbed his arm with unconscientious ease and began pulling him toward the sitting room. “And don’t make that face. Hagrid is an expert in his field whether or not  _ you  _ believe it to be true.” 

“I don’t doubt his knowledge, Lioness, only his wisdom,” he shook his head, “and his ability to keep his mouth shut.” 

“Hagrid is a great man,” Harry said stiffly. 

“Indeed,” Hermione retorted. “Great and  _ less than discreet _ , Harry. Need we revisit Norbert?” 

“No, I concede the point,” the man said through clenched teeth. “Forgive me; it was an involuntary impulse.” 

Draco shrugged, “I earned your ire many times over, Potter. You do not need to justify your response. However, I am worried about stirring the gossips.” 

“Some of the players involved in this are well connected, Harry,” Hermione said, pulling Draco down onto the sofa as Harry took the chair nearest the hearth. “Disgression is rather paramount."

"I was intentionally thin on the details," Potter shrugged and collapsed back onto the plush chair. "Despite the rumors propagated in newsprint, I'm good at my job." 

"Of course you are, Harry," Hermione waved her hand dismissively. Draco sealed his lips against a childish retort. Something about the wunderkind had always ruffled his feathers. Perhaps it was the act of rejection in their first year at Hogwarts. Maybe it was the constant ever-growing suspicion that practically haunted him through their sixth year. The grudging admiration that grew for Potter through the war and the following years was a contradiction that left him frustrated and bemused. 

“What did you find then, Potter?” Draco kept his voice flippant, as he wasn’t confident he could accomplish a sincere tone. 

Harry narrowed his eyes shrewdly at the other man. “A substantial amount of informed conjecture.” The dark-haired wizard flicked his wrist, silently sending two small sheets of paper with his messy scrawl toward his two companions. “Never been a recorded sighting in Europe, or anywhere outside of the Americas. According to the text of Jeshusa Wrathwaite, Wendigo spread madness or hunger. He also implied that if you fell under its cry, you would ‘succumb.’ It is unclear if that meant you would become one of them, go mad, or die. 

“Other tales claim they are sent as vengeance or triggered as a consequence of the victim’s error. Accounts date from before colonial settlement that the Wendigo stalked ate whole families in the hard winter months, leaving nothing but bones found the following spring. In Scamander’s private diary, he recounts the only known first-hand encounter with the beast. A family lived near the outskirts of a small town. The eldest daughter had married and lived in a small town near her family’s settlement. She grew worried about the rest of her family after the first thaw. Even though her sisters had sent regular owls during early winter, they had been silent for several weeks. She gathered her husband and brother-in-law to investigate.” The wizard paused with a grimace. Looking toward the fire, he took a breath and continued more softly. 

“They found the three children and the father partially eaten. The mother was discovered further from the house with her face and neck brutally disfigured and her fingers bloody. Scamander spoke with the last surviving member of the search party, who shared a memory with him. It was only a brief glimpse of a smiling skeletal creature with bone-white horns.” 

Draco was glad his Empathic occlumency was in place because his fear had spiked with every word from Potter’s mouth. Hermione subtly leaned into him and pressed her knee against his before speaking. 

“Some of that does sound familiar, doesn’t it, Draco?” Despite the expanding crisis, he still felt the feathery warmth in his chest at his given name. He gave her a small smile and a nod. 

“Yes, very familiar. We can clear up a few things. The Wendigo we encountered was at least partially human. It certainly has a cry, though I’d call it a scream or a shriek?” Draco raised an eyebrow toward the witch at his side.

“Wail?” She countered with a soft laugh. “Whatever it may be labeled for posterity, it had an effect that might be called hunger.” 

Potter gave a barely audible gagging sound. “Shite, ‘Mione, I am trying to be accepting over here but stop mooning before I lose the will to resist gauging out my eyes.” He flung one arm over his face dramatically. “I’m completely knackered. Can we discuss  _ how  _ you know this thing was human in any way and what you meant by  _ ‘might be called hunger’  _ before I collapse into your spare? A room which is, Godrick willing, in-laid with a silencing charm.”

Draco felt the heat of a self-conscious blush crawl up his neck while appreciating the discomfort he was obviously providing the Boy Wonder. Before the War and the move, he had guarded against overt signs of affection as broadcasts of weakness. Even to allies, fragility was not revealed. And whatever this was becoming with Granger  _ was _ fragile and special, to be protected and nurtured. Still, there was a bit of him that wanted to fly a banner across the skyline, proclaiming there was  _ something  _ there. If he felt more for her than she did for him, he would live with that. 

“You’ll need to take my word on the humanity bit,” Hermione pronounced succinctly, perfectly confident that her best friend would do just that. “And if you can’t handle a few flirty glances, you likely don’t want to know how the,” she paused with a gentle throat clear, “ _ hunger _ manifested.” 

One green eye peered from beneath the man’s arm, flashing between the young couple on the couch. “No. I need to know, but I don’t think I can take that tonight.” He shook himself and bounced up from the chair. “I’m done in. Gin sent supplies in the usual way.” 

“I’m so glad to see you, Harry,” the witch moved to stand and hug the man. “I promise I’ll make it relatively painless, though you’ll need to ask Draco for the first bit. I don’t remember much…” 

“Ahhh, no, no, please, let me avoid  _ that _ nightmare for just night longer,” he kissed the top of her forehead. “You need to visit soon. Ginny will kill me if I tell you before she gets the chance.” 

“Another, Harry?” She laughed. “Three under 5? Are you competing with the Weasley legacy?” 

“Bite your tongue! This is last, at least until we get James off to Hogwarts. He’s a holy terror.” Potter lit up when he spoke of his children. “And I  _ didn’t tell you _ !” 

Draco tallied another line in the  _ Potter is Eternally Lucky _ column and sighed softly. He moved into the kitchen to give them a few moments of privacy. 

“Malfoy,” the shorter man nodded. 

“Potter,” he said with a mock salute. He couldn’t muster the same spiteful tone. It made it sound unnatural. 

Eventually, Hermione joined him in the kitchen. He crossed his arms and leaned against her counter. 

“Why are you looking at me like that?” She questioned him as he watched her cheeks stain pink. 

“You told him,” he said, slowly walking toward her. “You told Potter about us.” 

She pushed her chin out and backed up a step, “Should I not have?” 

“You told the Ministry’s head Aurour and  _ your best friend _ that we…” he fumbled for words.

“I told him we are dating, yes,” she took another step back, legs hitting her kitchen table. 

“Why?” Draco pushed her hair back and cradled her face. 

Her lips parted and then met again. Deep brown eyes studied his face for a long minute before she answered. “Because it is important to me that my best friend know about any relationship I plan to continue.” 

Continents shifted beneath his feet as the barest hope he held of a future with this incomparable witch materialized into something more solid. Even though he knew it was a small, fleeting dream, hope blossomed deep in his soul. 

“Hermione,” he wrapped his arms about her and bent to kiss her elegant neck, “I want to take you to bed so I can properly show you how much I approve of your  _ plan _ .” 

“Well, come on then,” she said, voice already tremulous with desire, “let’s go test those silencing charms.” 


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione and Draco share a morning. Draco and Harry have a discussion. Hermione has an idea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the next chapter! I hope everything is well with all of you.

Hermione woke with a pinch in her neck and a warm sensation suffusing through her body. Draco was tucked up under her chin, his breathing steady and deep. One of his arms wound beneath her and encircled her waist while the other rested above her heart, his long fingers trailing up toward her neck. It was still early, and they had burned the wicks to their ends last night. 

She eased away from him, sitting up. His beatific face was peaceful as he settled back into sleep. Stretching, she marked the soreness of her body. Draco had delivered on his vow to test the silencing charms. He had insisted that any good experiment was repeatable and therefore made her scream his name embedded into strings of profanity multiple times last night. Several impressions of her teeth were etched into his pretty porcelain skin, along with a few lovebites. Yet, for all the  _ vigorous _ effort put forth, he withheld his peak until she lay spent and wrung dry. Then he leaned over her, taking her face in both his hands and watching her as he reached completion. It had been gentle and inexpressibly intimate. Afterward, neither of them said a word. They simply settled into the nooks and crannies of each other’s bodies and drifted happily. Just before she slipped fully into sleep, Hermione felt a warm emotion that she was beginning to recognize as not her own. She smiled.

Now, in the pink morning light, she allowed herself to push aside the worry about the Black Spot and Wendigo. Hermione admitted that she felt more deeply for Draco than she had felt for anyone since Ron. She had been little more than a child then, unsure of her place in the world and angry at what had been required of her. Ron hadn’t been ready for any of it. She hadn’t been in any condition for a relationship. It had been a disaster. After that, she had slowly walled away her heart. Except for  _ him _ . It seemed Draco Malfoy had a key to the tiny door she had left in her defenses. He could shatter everything, but, looking at him in the bright eastern light, she felt confident he wouldn’t. 

She moved to leave the bed when strong fingers wound around her bare waist and pulled her backward. Sleepy grey eyes blinked at her while he smirked. “Nyx, you are so beautiful like this. It’s honestly unfair,” he murmured into her hair. 

She laughed and turned in his arms. “Like what? Starkers with sex hair?” She tried to tame the offending locks. 

He shook his head and pressed her closer to him. “In my arms, in the morning light. It makes me…” he tilted his head. “It makes me want things,” his smile turned a little sad. “So tell me, my Lioness, what has made you so happy at this ridiculous hour?” He reached up and tugged a single curl gently. 

Hermione closed her eyes and breathed in his scent. “You did, Draco.” The wizard beneath her body stilled and released a sudden puff of air. When she opened her eyes, he was staring at her, astounded. She laughed lightly, aware that she had stepped dangerously close to oversharing. “I...what I should say…” he stopped her words with a reverent kiss.

She decided to increase the heat, opening her mouth and teasing him with her tongue. Enthusiastically, he responded in kind, pulling her fully over his body. All the overused muscles from last night’s escapades reminded her forcefully that they wanted no part of round 3. Or was it 4? At her hiss of pain, he pulled back with a rueful grin.

“Go take a shower, darling,” he squeezed her ass for good measure. “I’ll do the necessary brewing of tea. I think we still have pastries from the last run to Cecile’s. I may also have a Pepper-Upper potion stashed.” 

“You are a gentleman and a scholar,” she buried her face in his neck for a moment. “I’ll make it up to you.” 

“You can’t ‘make-up’ for a perfect morning, Hermione,” he kissed the top of her head. “Unless you plan to promise more of the same.” 

“Ugh, stop being so sweet,” she nipped his pulse point lightly. “I can’t handle it this early.”

“Your penchant for pastries would be to differ.” 

“Ah, there it is,” she kissed his neck one more time before rolling off the bed. 

“What? I’ll gladly be your supplier for as long as you let me,” he rumbled a laugh mixed with a yawn. “Cecile does miss you, though.” 

“I’ll go see her tomorrow when you go on your miserable afternoon run,” she rolled her eyes as she moved toward the bathroom.

“I’d go for a fly instead if  _ someone _ would pull a few strings to give me a concealment exception…” he said in a hopeful voice. 

“Ha! Chance would be a fine thing,” she shut the door to his wounded whine. 

Twenty minutes later, Hermione emerged from the bathroom with a skip in her step. She hesitated when she heard the two men talking in her kitchen. 

"I don't take your meaning,  _ sir, _ " Draco's voice was tense with unmasked sarcasm. 

"Oh, come off it, Malfoy," Harry replied with equal ire. "Don't throw around my title, and I won't bring up yours." She could practically hear the tendons crunching as both men clenched their jaws. 

"Which one?" Draco asked after a long minute. His tone was dark and sad, but Hermione could tell the fight was gone from him. "I have a dozen I'm not proud of, and none of them should ever be tied to her in any way." 

"Why, then?" Harry had released some of the heat, his voice calmer. 

"Why what? Honestly, Potter, what are they allowing the pass for thorough questioning at the Old Home Office these days." She marveled at how very much like children, they both sounded. 

"Alright then, it's obvious that this relationship isn't usual for her. She hasn't kept a bloke around for more than two dates in years.” Hermione bristled at Harry’s words, even though they were correct. “Now she’s dropping casual lines in letters that she’s  _ reconnected _ with you and  _ enjoys your wit.  _ Now you two are  _ seeing each other _ .” 

“Yes,” Draco’s voice was dry, “that is how relationships are formed.”

“Last night, you were wearing  _ her  _ clothes unless you’ve suddenly become a  _ Veruca Salt  _ fan,” she could hear the doubt in Harry’s voice. “There is tea she doesn’t like in the cupboard, your coat in the closet.” 

“Do you know what a relationship is? Because you are describing things that happen in relationships.” Draco said in a low voice. “ _ Veruca Salt _ is excellent, by the way.” 

“That’s not the point, and you know it --”

“Then what  _ is  _ your point, Potter?” Both men were struggling to keep their voices low. 

“What is your angle? At first, I wondered if this was just a physical thing.” Harry’s voice was analytical and matter-of-fact. “But this feels far too intimate; she touches you too easily. So now I’m left to wonder why you wormed your way into her life.” 

“Our first meeting was serendipitous. Since that day, I treasure every moment I have with her because I am sure in the knowledge that she will come to her senses one day and realize how immensely unworthy I am of even a passing glance. I have no  _ angle _ other than awe.” 

Hermione moved to interrupt, but Harry said, “Good,” with a sigh. “Good, Draco.” There was a shifting of feet. “I know she can take care of herself, but I needed to do some pushing. I hope you know I want only the best things for her.” The wizard took another step, “I will make life impossible for you if you hurt her, though.” 

“Alright,” Hermione said, stepping into the kitchen. “Enough of that nonsense, Harry. If I want to make Draco’s life miserable, I could do it  _ without _ your assistance.” 

“I believe I have more experience and prowess than either of you at making my life hell,” he smiled wanly at her. “How much of that did you hear?” 

“Whatever do you mean? All I seem to recall two adult wizards measuring their wands instead of asking a witch what she wanted,” Hermione replied innocently. Both men looked away chagrined. “Well, in any case, I have a plan.” 

“A plan for what?” Harry looked at her quizzically.

“We can fill you in on the details, but I think we need to use this,” she held up Draco’s invitation to the Sangish’s annual  Samhain Ball. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> May your holidays be warm. I hope you are all staying safe. Drop a comment or a kudo if you can!


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Draco and Hermione dance and plans are made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Life is chaos but it's better than the alternative. This isn't my best chapter but I needed to write it. There will be more. I hope you are all well and safe and happy. -Age

Hermione stood in the kitchen brandishing an expensively embossed invitation. Currently, it only said  _ For the hand of the Most Honorable Marquess of Wiltshire _ . Both men had immediate adverse reactions. Harry looked as though he had bitten a lemon while Draco’s mouth turned down as he knit his eyebrows together. 

“Before either of you whinge at me, we need more information than we have. It’s a party that half of the Wizarding World fawns over. There will be at least a hundred and fifty witches and wizards there. The conditions are perfect for reconnaissance,” she stepped over to the kettle that had just begun to sing shrilly. “In any event, this is an opportunity to get closer to the key players.” 

“You told me last night that these people were dangerous and deeply connected,” Harry twisted his wand in his hand as was his nervous habit. “Now, you want to get chummy with them? ‘Mione, you don’t swim toward a shark.” 

Draco watched the witch purse her lips and toss her wet hair in irritation. “You don’t swim  _ away  _ from a shark either, Harry. It will catch you either way.” 

“You aren’t helping your case,” he said. Draco appreciated the flint he heard in the man’s voice. He remembered the essential steel backbone Potter had displayed multiple times and renewed his reluctant respect. “There will be too many people to keep track of everyone, that is true, but  _ unfortunate _ things happen in crowded parties,” he shuddered. “Poisonings, maimings, assaults, I’ve even worked a disappearance. It’s not inherently safe.” 

“I believe I am quite capable of avoiding and discouraging most negative interactions and can handle the rest,” Hermione shrugged, her dark eyes resting on Draco. He shifted uncomfortably under her gaze and tightened both his mental and emotional occlumency. “Draco will be there with me, too. He will watch out for me.” 

"Hermione, I…” he stuttered to a stop, unable to verbalize his fears. “I don’t know if this is a good idea,” Draco finished weakly. 

A bell sounded three times from Potter’s pocket. “I’m expected at MACUSA.  _ Don’t _ make any rash plans, please Hermione?” He moved toward her fireplace, grabbing a fistful of Floo Powder. “We will figure out a safe way to get the information you need. I’ll stay through tomorrow and leave Tuesday morning, yeah? It’ll give us a little time.” 

She hummed in a way that could be consent but wasn’t. Harry dropped the powder and disappeared into the garish smoke with a mutter of “MACUSA Security Division”. 

As the ash settled in little swirls, Hermione turned on her heel and gave Draco an absolutely wicked smile. 

“For an accomplished investigator, he is awfully trusting,” Draco said, returning her smile with a bit more reserve. 

“Mmmm, he isn’t really so naive, but he’s a bit blind when it comes to those he trusts,” she idly twirled her fingers around conducting a spell in her mind. “It’s an incredibly short list. I didn’t lie to him to be fair. I don’t make rash plans. I make careful, clever plans.” The witch practically danced as her brain worked scenarios, and Draco was struck by her confidence once again. “I have the perfect dress. It’s blue but I could charm it green if you prefer,” she batted her lashes in mock flirtatiousness as she stalked around the kitchen thinking. 

“Don’t. I love you in blue,” the casual confession slipped from his lips without forethought. She paused in her pacing, her eyes suddenly unfocused and her lips lifting subtly at the corners. 

“Oh, well then, no charm necessary. Dust off your dress robes, Draco, we are going for a night on town,” he folded his hands as she said that. 

“I don’t have formal robes. Hermione just…” she grabbed his hand and pulled him into her arms, lifting his arms into a dance frame. Years of private tutelage brought Madam Gratia’s voice thundering into his head, and he swept himself into appropriate position subconsciously bracing for the impending  _ thwap _ of his dance masters cane on his slouched shoulders. Draco knew it was a foolish thought, but he strangely missed the old woman. The shock of her white hair contrasted with her gently lined dark skin just as her quick discipline contrasted with her kind eyes. She had passed before the war, thank the Founders. She would never look at him with disappointment. 

“We can send for one from your mother, or simply buy a new one. Don’t you want to dance with me at a big fancy party? Wouldn’t you like to sweep me off my feet so thoroughly that I’m  _ forced _ to do unspeakably naughty things to you in a tucked away alcove?” He swore. She knew how to hit him right in the soft underbelly of his fantasies. 

“I have nothing in Wiltshire that will fit. I wasn’t exactly at a healthy body weight when I left for America,” he said. Sympathy crossed her face briefly before she flicked her wrist and delicate piano music tripped through the flat. 

“So, we will go shopping,” she said with a raised eyebrow, as his feet reflexively moved into a foxtrot and she followed with relative ease. “ I’ll admit it’s not my strongest area, but I’m sure there is a shopkeep somewhere positively pink with the prospect of dressing you.”

“I don’t doubt there is someone willing to fawn over the premium price of a custom-tailored dress suit and robe set on short order for next weekend,” he said frowning while he spun her back to his front and guided her deftly from the kitchen to the sitting room where there was more room. “There is always someone willing to kowtow for money, Granger. It’s not that…” 

“Don’t tell me you are afraid of putting me in  _ mortal peril _ ,” she paired her dramatic inflection with a feigned swoon which he deftly turned into a dip. Her laughter peeled over him like a warming spell. “You really are too good at this, you know.” 

“I was raised on this and a thousand little points of etiquette and indoctrination,” he sighed, bringing her back to her feet, no longer dancing. 

“Draco,” she looked up at him with concern, “I don’t think dancing is inherently meant to be exclusionary.” 

“Isn’t it? Dancing, table etiquette, complex forms of address, fashion - it is all meant to remind  _ you _ that you don’t belong. It’s meant to signal to  _ me  _ that you are unworthy of my attention and create a reason for your dismissal from  _ polite  _ company. It is meant to keep you and me with the acceptable, appropriate company without requiring something so vulgar as words to say it.” 

Hermione tipped her head to the side thinking, “I suppose it can be used like that, but I don’t think that’s  _ all  _ it is. Especially dancing.” 

“Hermione, please listen to me,” he paused and she looked up with real focus. She was done trying to convince him of her plan it seemed at least for the moment. “I  _ do _ want to dance with you in public or private, whenever you want, for as long as you want,” he flexed his hands on her waist willing her to understand how much he meant that. “But I have not made a public appearance in five years. I have avoided the spotlight for a reason. Most people don’t even know I relocated to New York. I don’t  _ want _ to be part of that social scene anymore,” he turned his head toward the late morning light in the window. “It’s vicious and incredibly restrictive. I have no interest in performing as an  _ example _ for… well, anyone? Everyone?” He felt his emotional occlumency slip, unable to hide from her. Rather than feeling his emotions seep from him into her, he was quickly overwhelmed with her empathy. Protectiveness and deep affection warred with anger and shame. 

“I’m sorry, Draco,” he turned to find her eyes downcast. “I didn’t think of what it would mean for you.” Her fingers curled into his shirt, “we will find another way.”

“No. This is a way in,” he was still guiding her body through the rhythm of a dance, even though there was no semblance of appropriate form or real style. He moved his left hand up her side with slow purpose, feeling her motion as muscles tense and relax. “We will go. Just don’t…” his palm reached her neck and her eyes snapped to him, “Don’t romanticize it. It’s not some fantasy. It’s just another blood rite dressed up in pretty clothes.” 

“Oh,” she drew her eyebrows together in thought as he ran his fingers through the soft hair at the nape of her neck. “I see. I hadn’t thought of it that way.” 

He hummed lost for a moment in the feeling of her pulse beneath his thumb, of her emotions crowding out his doubt. “For the record, I would take Hermione Granger in blue jeans over any model in the highest fashion.” 

She smiled. “You just like the way my bum looks in muggle jeans.”

“Bloody well right,” he smiled salaciously. Then he yelped as she pinched him rather hard. 

“I have work to do. Go shopping,” she laughed. 

“I suppose I should be grateful my mother didn’t show up spontaneously to assist,” he said, only half-joking. 

“Don’t count her out yet,” the witch smiled with dry humor. 

He hadn’t dropped his hands yet. “Are you sure you want to do this, da-- Hermione?” He choked on his affectionate name for her. He didn’t want to use any kind of manipulation, however unintentional. “This is going to change things in many ways.” 

“Not in any way that matters to me anymore,” she said, placing her hand over his. “Though maybe you should get a few suits. I do have several required social engagements at the Ministry and MACUSA. I could use an arm ornament.” 

He felt his lips turn upward as he nodded, heading toward the shower. 

**Author's Note:**

> The creativity pixies are fed by comments. Be forewarned they are a mischievous lot who rarely do as they are told.


End file.
